Harry Potter and the Fountain of Impossible Things
by Miagkaia
Summary: What if… Harry and his friends received a new offer from the Ministry of Magic, an offer that simply couldn't be refused? Featuring, as a guest star: the ghost of Oscar Wilde (as himself).
1. Chapter 1 - Transitions

**Customary disclaimer**

The world of Harry Potter entirely belongs, 100%, from top to bottom, head to foot, to J.K. Rowling. This piece of work is just a tribute, created in rapt moments of worship, reverence and/or undying admiration. ***No harm or profit is intended.***

**Summary**

What if… Harry and his friends received a new offer from the Ministry of Magic, an offer that simply couldn't be refused? Featuring, as a guest star: the ghost of Oscar Wilde (as himself).

**Timeline**

Takes place right after HBP (AKA _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_).

Nb. I started to work on this story long before _The Deathly Hallows_ came out (trying to get it out of my system before it was released, and failing lamentably). So let's say that this work stands for an alternate version of the very last book.

**Pairing**

_H/HR (with a long-lasting, wicked UST… he he… I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good! J)._

***Warnings!***

1. Spoilers from the six first books are (obviously) included here and there (CANON RULES).

2. Small or big references to my favourite books (including, of course, HP), authors, movies, TV shows or songs are disseminated here and there. The attentive readers who will recognize them will be prized with 62.442 extra points! All those references are dutifully listed in the end.

Any review, positive or negative, marriage proposition or death sentence is gladly welcome.

Zanx for reading!

CHAPTER 1 - Transitions

The hottest day of spring was finally drawing to a close. The sun was sinking, blood red, below the skyline, and silence lay over the lawns. Through a pair of iron gates, flanked with columns where stood a couple of winged boars, a mass of turrets loomed against the sky –it was Hogwarts Castle, home of the most famous school in Wizarding Britain.

Behind the gates, a gravelled walk meandered upon a slope, dotted with groups of blackberry bushes, which, for some unexplained reason, grew in more perfection there than anywhere else in the country. The walk was shadowed, on the right, by a thick row of oaks, which shut out a good part of the landscape with their tangled branches, and encircled the Castle and the grounds with a murky-looking shelter.

The Castle faced the walk, a hundred paces from the gates, upon the hilltop. It was very old, very odd, and very irregular and rambling. The windows were uneven; some small, some large, some with heavy stone mullions and rich stained glass; others with frail lattices that rattled in every breeze; others so modern that they might have been added only yesterday. Great piles of turrets, towers and chimneys rose up behind the gables, grey-looking and moss-grown. For some bewildering reason, the clock-tower was adorned with not two, but three rusty hands. It was so broken down by age that it might have fallen but for the ivy which, gnarling the walls and trailing even over the roofs, damaged and supported it altogether.

A deathly stillness was in the air in this heavy-looking sunset. The light glimmered on the windows, and the lattices were all ablaze with crimson flashes. The silence was so thick that it frightened the birds that had a mind to sing, the fishes that rose to the surface of the ponds and splashed back in the water, and even the frogs that, by this time of the day, usually enjoyed croaking in the ditches.

As the clock over the tower struck eight, a low, moaning wind started to sweep across the land. It tossed the branches hither and thither against the red sky; the leaves rustled with that sinister, shivering motion, an instinctive shudder of the frailest branches, announcing the coming of a storm.

Somewhere on the grounds, a bird started to sing. Though it wasn't the usual singing that you have probably already heard; it was a more like a lament –an unearthly lament of terrible beauty, which filled the air, grew up in intensity and soared through the grounds, echoing deafeningly in the deep purple sky.

As if the disheartening chant had waked them from slumber, the first shadows of night started to darken the land. They looked more like the arms of threatening giants, gesticulating, undulating and drawing fantastical patterns upon the grass. In a few seconds, their fleshless fingers stretched out at full length, swallowing the grounds, creeping up the ramparts until their utmost summit.

The landscape was deserted of any human being, and had been so for more than a few hours. Indeed, in this long June nightfall, there was a threat, greater than the fading light, which had deprived the castle's inhabitants of their usual wanderings. The threat was now lurking in the air, oppressive, so deathlike was the tranquillity of all around; it felt as if a _corpse_ must be lying somewhere, under the thick grass, or within that grey and ivy-covered pile of building…

The sensation was, sadly, very much accurate: the spring had come to an end in a dramatic way, turning the Wizarding world upside down. The same morning, Hogwarts' beloved Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer of the Order of Merlin, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, had been laid to rest in a marble white tomb, beside the lake.


	2. Chapter 2 - Four Schools

The Great Hall, usually gleaming with light and sound, was silent. The students sat dutifully at their tables, waiting for the newly appointed Headmistress to appear and make her first, and very official, announcement.

The Hogwarts Express —which had initially been scheduled to leave one hour after the funeral, hurrying the students back home to their terrified parents— had been cancelled on short notice by the Ministry of Magic; the Department of Magical Transport had invoked the need for extreme safety measures.

Among the tense crowd, a black-haired boy could easily be spotted. His face was thin, pale and deeply furrowed –the quite unhealthy look of someone who had grown too much in a short space of time. Through a lock of untidy hair, a very thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, creased his forehead, and not one tinge of colour flushed the whiteness of his cheeks. He was silent, his jaw set, intent on staring at the door with stone-hard, unblinking eyes. His look, blazing green through his half-shattered glasses, had such fixity and tautness that it could call into mind a Fox Terrier lying in wait for some invaluable hunting prize.

On either side of the young man, his closest friends also looked pale and shocked. They wore rather chaotic hair as well –the boy had shoulder-length, flaming red locks, the girl a dark toffee, wild and tangled mass surrounding her forehead like a mane. Mirroring their friend's position, they stood still as a couple of palace guards –apart from the redheaded boy's fingers, which were rapping on the table with intemperate venom.

A sound of hurried steps reached the students' ears, heralding Professor McGonagall's arrival. Everybody roused themselves as though coming out of trances, and a few mutterings were heard. Harry –for the young, black-haired boy was no other than the widely known Harry Potter– felt his pulse quicken and his eyes sting, urging him to seriously reconsider the option of blinking again.

The Headmistress opened the door with a loud crack and stepped in. She was very white, her mouth the thinnest of thin lines, and she looked extremely old. The other teachers, following her, filed reluctantly into the room, seeming downright scared. Behind them, Mr Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic, tagged along. He was the first of a long crowd of Ministry workers, wearing shiny badges with a purple snake encircling a bluish dragon.

Mr Scrimgeour had his hands joined behind his back and his lips curled in an odd, twisted sneer –half gloomy, half contented. He shoved himself unceremoniously into the thronelike chair in the middle of the staff table and scanned the Hall. As Harry met his yellowish eyes, the young man felt a pang of aggravation and disgust start down of his spine and crawl up his back, pricking the hairs on his neck, as if he were seeing some very disgusting insect.

"Dear students," said Professor McGonagall in an echoing voice. "As you have already been informed, our world is facing a terrifying danger. Our evil adversary, He… L… Lord Voldemort, not only remains undefeated, but is back with a vengeance."

A few students winced at the sound of Voldemort's name, speechless with fear. He Who Must Not Be Named was, again, being named. Harry just gave a sharp nod.

"We are facing extremely difficult times, my dear children," continued the Headmistress, stony-faced. "Our enemies have moved into the open, wreaking havoc, threatening mass killing. Our beloved Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, already fell in a vain attempt to protect us. His bravery, greatness of heart and wisdom will be profoundly missed, now and forever." She paused, closing her eyes briefly.

"The reality shall now be faced: we are at war, a civil war," she said, her voice creaking slightly. "Every Auror of the Ministry, an arm of elite Dark Wizard hunters, has been working round the clock to find Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters. The Dementors, guards of the Azkaban prison and extremely dangerous creatures, have also taken sides with our worst enemy." She paused again, swallowing hard. "We happen to be talking about one of the most powerful Wizards of all times, a Wizard that has eluded capture for almost three decades. Extra precautions must be taken for your safety."

"Of course, all lessons remain suspended, and examinations are postponed," she said quickly. "You will now be escorted to your dormitories and sent home tomorrow, at dawn. All students will be evacuated from the school with the most up-to-date 12-seater Combined Turbo Broomsticks, graciously offered by the Ministry." She turned her head slightly towards the Minister's direction, without meeting his eyes, though. Her mouth seemed, somehow, thinner than ever.

"I must also sadly and officially announce that Hogwarts, as per the school governors' decision, shall not be reopened after the summer... or ever after."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. Everybody exchanged astonished glances, and he felt his anguish instantly transform into a mixture of shock and defiance. Unconsciously, his hands turned to tight fists. He could feel his fingernails biting into his own flesh.

The Headmistress continued her speech. "Our beloved institution, through its whole history, has generated deep loyalty, striving not only for academic and sporting excellence, but for values and principles. Yet, through the ages, we also faced intense discord and rivalry."

She turned her head quickly towards the Minister and went on, tilting her chin up and scrutinizing the man through her small square glasses. "Alas, the noble ideals of the Four Founders do not appear to meet, nowadays, the wills of the… modern Wizarding world. It was Professor Dumbledore, and he alone, who kept Hogwarts united." She paused, and her nostrils flared. "To avoid further threats, not one, but four new schools will be created once the war is over, giving parents the choice of where to educate their children. Hogwarts Castle will, of course, remain. It will be transformed into a… scientific research centre for studying Spectral Social Habits and Lifestyle."

A few gasps were heard from every corner of the room. A ghost, wearing a ruff and tights, streamed through the back wall, pearly white and slightly transparent. "Now, we're talking" he said –a low, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon. Harry closed his eyes and slumped heavily back in his chair.

Squaring her shoulders, the Headmistress resumed her speech. "To complete your year, correspondence examinations will take place shortly," she said, business-like. "Let me remind you that, obviously, no falsification is possible: the forms are enchanted and cannot be filled out by anyone other than the examinee. Obviously, no books are allowed nearby either, or they will auto ignite promptly," she stated, making her point clear with a raised finger. "The students who wish to continue their schooling next year –and I strongly advise you to do so, will be able to attend our sister institutions of Beauxbâtons or Durmstrang. I already spoke with their respective Headmasters, and they will be more than pleased to welcome you among them." She lowered her head briefly. "One last thing: of course, in these dangerous times, the law proscribing underage magic outside the school has been suspended by the Ministry. I recommend, nonetheless, that you use your abilities with wisdom and parsimony, and only in cases of emergency, requiring a pressing intervention to keep you and your families safe." A suspicious sniffing sound escaped her nose.

"My dear students, I truly wish you all good fortune, a full life, and many and great achievements. And I look forward to the day, surely and confidently, I look forward to the day when peace and happiness will be restored to our community and to our lives." With a last sniffle, she descended the pulpit quickly, her eyes looking red and watery.

As the Headmistress left the room, an outraged uproar exploded among the crowd, and in the midst of the noise, a very upset Harry stood and dashed out of the door.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Unwise Child

Harry needed a walk –moving suddenly felt much more bearable than sitting still. He had been wandering through the Castle's corridors for what seemed like hours, striving to escape the Prefects, whose duty was to escort any errant pupil straight back to his dormitory.

Yet sleep was the last possible thought in Harry's mind at the moment. If truth be told, he was feeling rather mutinous. His head bent down like a charging bull, he had been walking all along with hurried steps, his wand lighted up in front of him, barely illuminating the stone floor enough to allow him to press on. He had no particular destination in mind –actually, he wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings at all, and, if somebody had asked, he would have been completely unable to recognize where he was.

While the common rooms and the Great Hall had probably been lit with roaring fires since his escape, the corridors were pitch black. A bitter, unseasonal wind rattled the windows now, and the air was icy –as if even the June weather was unexpectedly dismal.

Harry came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. Blinking twice to put it into focus, he stared at it blankly –there was one which looked exactly like this near the kitchens, he remembered, but he had to be five floors above there at least, by now… Looking all around him for the first time and taking in his surroundings, he tried unsuccessfully to suppress a slight shiver. This chilly draught didn't feel right…

"So, tell me about the boy. This illustrious, glorious Harry… Harry Potter," echoed a man's voice.

Harry stopped dead. Fast, and as quietly as he could, he crawled behind the armour, squeezing his chest against the wall and holding his breath, trying not to move a muscle.

The voice seemed to come from the other end of the corridor. It was punctuated by loud and regular sounds –footsteps, probably belonging to a couple of people, and… an odd noise, like a cane hitting the ground, or some kind of wooden leg. One way or the other, it sounded strangely like a walking skeleton facing rheumatic itches.

"Well… Harry went through difficult times in his life." Harry immediately recognized Professor McGonagall's voice, and pricked up his ears so that he felt as if they were growing an inch or two. "He was orphaned at an early age, and then mistreated by a horrible, unmagical family. They locked him in a cupboard for part of his childhood." A sense of outrage filtered through Professor McGonagall's usually stiff voice. "Therefore, he plunged completely unprepared into the Wizarding world at the age of eleven. I never understood why Albus made him live with those Muggles. The poor boy must have suffered horribly."

"Nonsense," said the nameless man. It was a loud, sneering voice –Harry was quite positive that he had never heard it before, yet he disliked it immediately. He noticed that the man made small, puffing noises between his sentences, as if he were smoking a pipe.

"Minerva, you have always been excessively soft-hearted. Ffffffffff. Albus wanted to sharpen the boy of course, to prepare him for his duty. Make him grateful and not spoiled by his ridiculous fame." The man made a thunderous puffing noise, and then coughed heavily. "I heard that my old friend Severus took care of him –making sure that the boy didn't get too full of himself." He puffed again, making it sound like some sort of cackle.

Harry felt his blood start to boil. How could Professor McGonagall associate herself with any of Snape's acquaintances –Dumbledore's killer, a turncoat, a traitor…? He tried to move his head, stretching his neck as far as he could, aching to see who was talking.

"Certainly…" answered Professor McGonagall –yet making it sound not certain at all. "But may I remind you, Athanasius, that this… friend of yours has betrayed the Order in the worst possible way, seeking to aid and abet mass murderers and taking great care in remaining untraceable since?"

The faceless man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not responsible for Severus' conduct" he answered. "Most of the members of the Order, including Dumbledore himself, had faith in him, and well beyond reason –distrust thine allies, rely on thine enemies, this is my motto," he snapped. "Besides, as someone smartly said, friends are sometimes boring, but enemies –fffffffffnever." This time, it was Professor McGonagall who coughed.

"Still, all the information you gave me until now is highly irrelevant," said the man, bad-temperedly. "What I need to appreciate is if the charge is too heavy for the boy. And I count on a truthful answer on this matter, Minerva. Ffffffffyou understand, I'm sure, how vital it is."

Professor McGonagall came to a halt and sighed. They were standing a few steps from Harry now, who was silently thanking the darkness –without it they would have spotted his presence immediately, especially as he was now experiencing some difficulty in standing perfectly still. "Well, Albus always believed that Harry was exceptionally gifted… and Albus' judgement was the most valuable in the world to me."

A ray of moonlight came across the man's body as he gradually stopped his irritating pacing and uneasily settled himself in front of Professor McGonagall. Harry saw that he was old and hideously fat. He had indeed a wooden leg –and also a wooden arm, making him look half-man, half-chair. He appeared to be wearing one of the Ministry's badges, which shone in the moonlight as if it had been lengthily and thoroughly polished. Harry scrutinized the man and saw his thick, hairy eyebrow rise dubiously.

"All right then," said Professor McGonagall with a sigh. Her voice sounded as if she were fighting a close battle with herself and her most deep-seated values. "I admit I often wonder… Harry is, unquestionably, an extraordinary boy. Yet, he is only sixteen years old, after all. All the authority figures he had in his life are now… dead." She swallowed so hard that even Harry heard. "No one is left to explain to him why it is so crucial to carry on… and, moreover, how to carry on. I am not confident that he would follow my advice if I tried to lead him now. Furthermore, Albus never really entrusted me with the important matters the two of them shared."

The man shrugged impatiently and nodded sharply, twice, encouraging Professor McGonagall to continue. "Harry is also extremely brave," she said, squaring her shoulders faintly. "He has shown outstanding courage on many occasions, not to mention exceptional sporting skills. He has shown… initiative… even a stubborn pro-activeness, I would say. In fact, he has an extraordinary capacity for finding himself in absurd and dangerous and near-disastrous situations. Yet, his… alarming methods have proven, more than once, to be the most successful in the end." Her voice was now warm with what sounded like a smile. It acted like a soothing charm, as Harry felt his neck relax ever so slightly. He seized the occasion to quickly and silently wipe off a drop of sweat which was crawling down his jaw line.

"Certainly, Harry is also incredibly imaginative," she said. "Alas…" she sighed, bowing her head and sounding as if the words were too heavy for her. Harry immediately felt his tension come back in a flash. "I cannot say that he is a… brilliant student or a really… wise young man yet. I believe he would have needed some more years to mature, to have his mind tempered and sharpened. Or even only some extra time to… to… live. All this was not supposed to happen before a few years." She sniffed strangely again.

"Ffffff, I hate teenagers," said the man sternly –he had been listening to her speech with reproachful puffs all along. "Teenagers are dangerous: most of them are overly silly if not inept, lazy, moody and self-absorbed. They tend to overeat, oversleep and over… talk."

Harry almost let escape an indignant gurgle, but luckily managed to stifle it in his throat a second before it came out. "Well… indeed…" said Professor McGonagall. "Certainly, it can be a rather difficult age for some, especially as our expectations of an adult behaviour can be a tremendous pressure… yet not all teenagers face the same experiences, I believe."

"Ffffffsure. Fine. Whatever," interrupted the man with a sharp, awkward gesture of his wooden arm. "Well, what about his teenage associates? I've seen two of them at least acting like his shadows. Is there also any record of a… mind-altering, hormone-blasted crush towards a member of the opposite sex? Any stupid, overdramatic love affair that could distract him from his duty…?"

Harry's eyes were glaring with frustration. He felt hot and slightly queasy, as if he had a Golden Snitch leaping free in his stomach. He shifted on his feet noiselessly and started to chew on his lower lip.

Professor McGonagall hesitated. "Well… there is, in fact. I initially thought he would fall for… for another person, a young lady who spends a lot of time with him –the brightest Witch of her age, in my opinion," she stated proudly. "Then… well, he seems to have preferred a younger lady. I cannot blame him: she strikingly reminds me of his mother. I suppose it is only natural that he turns to her in those moments of distress."

"Is there any risk that he will decide to shave her name into his hair and clear off or something?" asked the man, before Harry could recover from the shock of what he had just heard.

Professor McGonagall hesitated again. "No, I don't think so. He is aware of his duty, this element cannot be important enough for him to make him fail." Harry's mouth opened as if he were about to say something, but no sound came out.

"I hope so. Yet, you never know with these teens…" The man puffed wildly. "Well, to sum up: Harry Potter is nothing but an ordinary boy. No superior intelligence. A mediocre student. Still entrenched in the trappings of adolescence. Lacking the dedication and work ethic to truly put his mind into his task and hardly any wisdom... and yet, he is our only chance. The future of the whole Wizarding world depends on him alone. Ffffffnot a very bright perspective, I dare say, my dear Minerva…" He laughed nervously and then coughed again.

Harry's fingers were now very pale –he was clenching the armour's metallic arm for support. A strange venom was shivering through his veins.

"All this is so unfair!" cried out Professor Mac Gonagall, mirroring Harry's thoughts. He jumped in surprise and almost kicked out the armour entirely. "If only he had got more time… it seems… it seems a human sacrifice of some sort."

"FfffffI agree. It truly is a human sacrifice, Minerva. But it's necessary. He has to die to save the world if needed –it is the least he could do, actually." Harry heard the man start to move again, soundly, as an old, rusty mechanism setting into motion. "Fffffwell, I'm going to bed. It has been a long day. Sleep tight, Minny."

As he heard both their footsteps resume their walk, straight past him, and finally die away, Harry dashed off in the opposite direction. He felt even more upset now –a fact that, only an hour before, he would have considered utterly impossible. What was all this about? Who was this Athanasius, and how could Professor McGonagall entrust him with any of his best-kept secrets? He stalked through the corridors, trying to find his way. The words he had heard were still ringing in his ears when he reached the Gryffindor Tower.


	4. Chapter 4 - Last Night at Gryffindor

It had probably been the worst day of Harry's entire life. He, Ron and Hermione sat together in the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other.

Hermione seemed deeply focused, perusing a book she had recently borrowed from the library –Oblivion Spells and How to Remember Them. The chapters were slipping through her brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. The more she attempted to focus on the printed pages before her, the more her thoughts seemed to slip away confusedly. Rubbing her swollen eyes, she persevered stubbornly. Somehow, it had suddenly become of the greatest importance to finish the book before leaving the school –the unpleasant idea of never returning haunting the back of her mind.

Ron was just staring blankly at the fireplace, gazing at the bright red flames that occasionally burst into life beneath the marble mantelpiece. After a few moments wondering if he should go and pack at last (but not even remotely disposed to do so), and a few other moments mentally enumerating all the terrible things that could happen in the coming months, he had decided there was no space left in his head for anything else than a sticky and frustrating sadness.

Harry, on his side, had collapsed heavily on a cornered chair near the window, his hands deeply tucked in his pockets. He was glaring at the inky night outside, forgetting to blink again. His fingers were fidgeting with the cold chain of the fake Slytherin's locket, the one that Professor Dumbledore had died to find and destroy. He now carried it with him everywhere, as a reminder of what was still left to do.

For once, Harry didn't feel the way he had so often before: excited, curious, burning to get to the bottom of a mystery… Who the inquisitive man could be, and why Professor McGonagall trusted him in any way, suddenly appeared to him like secondary topics. After all, this Athanasius was probably just another member of the Order, another dim-witted fellow who had, like many others, trusted Snape beyond reason for years.

What mattered now was what Harry knew, only too well: that his duty was to follow the dark path stretching ahead of him –it was, indeed, his destiny, and he needed no one to remind him of it. There was no waking from this nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark. Everyone seemed to rely on him alone, not bothering to act by themselves, not even chasing a shred of evidence that could help him in his mission…

Standing up swiftly, Harry let out a groan. With three, strong-willed strides, he joined his friends beside the fireplace and stretched his arms towards the flames. He paused there, letting the fire warm his ice-cold hands, unconsciously allowing the flames to cast eerie, gleaming waves upon his eyeballs, all orange and red. Ron and Hermione glanced at him, realizing they were holding their breath.

"This is probably our last night here… and Dumbledore is dead," Harry said darkly, as if anyone needed reminding. Yet, their hearts sank again at the very thought. Harry's voice had in it a certain note of weariness and even despair.

"But I think there might be a way to speak to him again…" he added, taking his eyes from the hypnotising flames and forcing himself to focus on the nearest coffee table.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. "What do you mean… exactly?" asked Ron, blinking twice.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Yesterday, when McGonagall asked me to follow her into the Headmaster's office," he said, biting hard on his lip again, "which is now hers –which probably makes it the Headmistress' office now, actually… Anyway, I saw that there is a new portrait on the wall: it's Dumbledore's. He seemed to be dozing then, but maybe he is awake now and we can speak to him."

"Right, the Headmasters' portraits!" cried Ron, standing up swiftly and widening his eyes, just as if he had abruptly awakened from a deep sleep. "I forgot about them! Let's go now!"

"Wait a minute…" said Hermione, closing her book loudly. She looked at them warily from her sitting position and cleared her throat. She sounded as if she was trying to assume the most soothing, un-Hermionish voice she could manage –yet failing quite lamentably. "Harry… you know that the person in the portrait is not really Professor Dumbledore, don't you? I read about this in "Hogwarts: a History." The portraits are only enchanted to simulate the spirit of the d… the once-living person." She paused, eyeing Harry's compressed lips, and then went on, unable to contain herself from further argument. "The portraits seem to show evidence of knowledge and possess consciousness, but it's merely an illusion. Maybe the painted Professor Dumbledore is very different from the man we used to know… besides, we cannot enter the room without authorization."

"Hermione," said Harry, staring straight at her for the first time in the whole evening. Realizing that his voice had probably sounded too harsh, he sighed heavily again. "Hermione," he repeated more kindly, "of course I know it's not really him. But I have seen, many times, Dumbledore himself accept advice on important matters from those portraits," he said. "The enchantments are supposed to replicate the Headmasters' minds, so they can give us access to their full knowledge... which, I think, would be a serious help now."

He lowered his head, trying to arrange his face in what he hoped to be a perfectly unfazed expression. "And I really need to speak to Dumbledore… I feel so bad about his death I would do anything to be able to see him again, even one last time."

Hermione eyed him oddly. She looked as if she was pondering one of the great questions of the world. After a few seconds, she stood up. "Yeah, I feel very bad too. If there is no other way… let's go. Do you still have the password to enter the office?"

Blinking faintly, Harry nodded and, grabbing his Invisibility Cloak, leaded them out of the common room, through the Fat Lady portrait, who was fast asleep, snoring loudly.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Talking Portrait

In many years, the Castle's grounds had never seemed so strangely quiet, and the dark corridors so depressing. Harry, Ron and Hermione advanced at a very slow pace, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak that was beginning to be rather small for three near-adults.

As they reached the former Headmaster's office door, Harry held his breath, straining his ears to listen for signs of possible, and very unwanted, passers-by.

"The Marauder's Map would come in handy now. Do you still have it?" whispered Ron.

"Yes, but it's too dark, I can't see a thing," answered Harry. He craned his neck out of the cloak –looking like a loose head popping out of thin air. Seeing that the coast was clear, he murmured "Lumos!" and the top of his wand lighted up. He reached for the Map in his pocket and unfolded it, and, mumbling the usual words ("I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"), he started to scan the enchanted parchment.

"There is nobody in the office, and nobody nearby… well, this is strange in fact…" said Harry thoughtfully.

"What is strange?" asked Hermione, with a blurred voice coming from under the Cloak.

"Never mind. Let's go. Sizzling Cinnamon!" said Harry at the door.

The door started to open with a small, distressing, creaking noise. "Here we go," said Harry in a whisper, taking the Invisibility Cloak off them.

They entered the circular office carefully, looking around and behind them as if they expected to find a danger, or at least a potential killjoy, hidden somewhere.

"Here it is," said Harry, stopping in front of the portrait of an old, dozing man, whose head was bent to the side, almost touching his shoulder. Harry felt a sudden pang in his heart. He chose to set aside the unnecessary emotion. "Professor Dumbledore… are you awake? Professor?" he asked.

The old man moved restlessly in his sleep, grunting a few unintelligible words. His half moon glasses were slipping dangerously from the tip of his nose, and his mouth was slightly open, producing small snoring sounds.

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged anxious looks, silently asking one another what should be done. Hermione cleared her throat loudly.

The snoring sound stopped and the old man roused himself abruptly, blinking a few times before reality hit him. Recognizing the young people who were standing in front of him, he smiled and then yawned, stretching out his arms.

"Dear, dear," he mumbled, straightening his glasses and looking at them with an affectionate look. "I fear I have fallen asleep for a few minutes."

"Sorry to have woken you up, Professor… but we really need to talk to you," said Harry, trying to suppress the thought that Hermione could be right –it was indeed a strange, frustrating thing to do, talking to the living portrait of his dead former mentor.

"No harm done, my dear Harry, no harm done," replied the old man. "In fact, I fell asleep while waiting for you to come."

"You were waiting for us, Professor?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Of course, Miss Granger. I have even asked Minerva to leave the office and keep the place clear of intruders, in case any presence might dissuade you from coming."

Not really sure if he should feel proud or blameworthy about this assertion, Harry chose to discard the unessential idea from his mind again. "Professor, are you… all right?" he asked.

"Well Harry, that is complex question to answer," answered Dumbledore. "Technically, I fear I am dead, which would probably induce a lot of people to say that I'm certainly not well. But I think that, when a person is gifted with a consistent amount of imagination, death is a little thing, especially when you are nearly 150 years old. So, yes, doubtlessly, I am very all right."

"How does it feel…? I mean… to be dead?" asked Ron, who had been silent until then. Hermione turned quickly and shot him a sharp look, and Harry seemed all of a sudden extremely interested in the shape of his shoes.

Dumbledore smiled again. "Also a very good question, Mr Weasley," he replied. He seemed to be considering the matter carefully, as he raised his thoughtful eyes to the ceiling –which was, for him, the portrait's top gilded frame. "A few moments ago, I was allowing myself to think that maybe dying is not really dying, my dear children. It's just… changing. I fell asleep wondering if, who knows, living might be what we call dying, and dying is what we call living?"

Harry could almost hear dozens of questions popping like bubbles in his head. Dumbledore smiled even more tenderly than before. "Well, but I have to admit that I'm positively thrilled by this change, it makes me see everything from a brand new perspective. It's quite a distraction. As I used to say when I was alive, to a well organised mind, death is but…"

"…the next great adventure?" finished Harry, a very weak smile crossing his lips.

"Absolutely," answered Dumbledore, laughing smoothly. "Now, let's get onto really important matters. What can I do for you?"

Harry felt his smile vanish and the crumpled look return instantly.

"Professor, there was something wrong with the Horcrux, the Slytherin's locket…" he said. "It wasn't… it wasn't the true one."

"Not the true one? What do you mean, Harry?" asked the old man.

"There was this note, inside it." Harry pulled out the fragment of parchment, opened it, and started to read: "To the Dark Lord. I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B."

"This is quite peculiar… quite peculiar indeed," whispered Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Well, what do you think?"

"Well…" answered Harry, his face grave. "I thought about it a lot already. It sounds like a… personal note, as if the person who wrote it knew Voldemort very well."

"Yes, and he calls him the 'Dark Lord.' Death Eaters are the only people who refer to Voldemort in this way," said Hermione.

"Very good, very good indeed," said Dumbledore. "R.A.B…. well, the only Death Eater I knew who carried those initials was from the House of Black."

Harry winced slightly. Dumbledore continued. "It was Regulus Arcturus Black, the younger brother of your godfather, Harry, Sirius Black. Regulus was a Death Eater who tried to dissociate himself from Voldemort, when he realized what was expected of him as a Death Eater… even if he most certainly shared with them the ideas of blood purity. He was allegedly killed on Voldemort's orders, but we cannot be absolutely sure of this."

Harry bent down his head. "Well, I don't care if he's dead or alive," he mumbled darkly. "I cannot postpone my duty now, Professor. I've got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes. That's what you wanted me to do, that's why you told me about them, am I right?"

The old man gazed at Harry for a second. "Yes, Harry. But before you start your quest, it is essential to process the information you have already gathered. What do we know about the Horcruxes?"  
"A Horcrux is a magical object," prompted Hermione. "It can seem insignificant in appearance, but it has been created through the use of the Dark Arts by evil Witches or Wizards who wish to avoid death. To do so, they must commit the 'supreme act of evil,' a murder which is so wicked that it rips the soul apart. They can then conceal part of their soul within the object, the Horcrux, which is usually hidden away in a safe location, so they become immune to death while it exists. Even if their bodies are destroyed, part of their soul remains earth-bound and undamaged. This is how Voldemort could remain undefeated for so long!"  
"Precisely, Miss Granger" said Dumbledore. "There is no apparent limitation on the nature of items that can be made into a Horcrux. They can be objects, humans or animals. But, knowing that each of them contains a part of Voldemort's soul, they are more likely objects, as living persons can die. Voldemort, because of his own arrogance, most certainly chose objects of significant sentimental or historical value –objects "worthy of the honour."

"And what gives us a serious advantage is that Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes," said Harry, almost to himself.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "And I saw that you managed to keep this secret, Harry, as I had asked you to, sharing it only with your two friends here… even if Minerva, full of good intentions, tried to make you say it yesterday in this very office," he added, winking.

"But do we really know how many Horcruxes have been created by Voldemort?" asked Ron.

"Professor Dumbledore believes there are six of them," answered Hermione. "Three have already been destroyed, ending the protection they provided –Marvolo Gaunt's ring, Tom Riddle's diary and apparently Salazar Slytherin's locket. But there are still three other Horcruxes out there –probably a cup once belonging to Helga Hufflepuff, an unknown item belonging to either Godric Gryffindor or Rowena Ravenclaw, and maybe the great snake Nagini."

"And they need to be destroyed, one by one, to destroy our enemy," said Harry, with a fiery, wild look in his eyes. "Then I have to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that is still in his body. I'm the one who, as the prophecy says, must kill him."

"Alas, I must agree again Harry," said Dumbledore with a sad sigh. "But don't forget the prophecy's exact words: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." Your destiny is to kill Voldemort, or either be killed by him, because none of you can live without fulfilling this dreadful action."

"Nevertheless, you, Harry, and Hermione, and Ron, you three have a power that Voldemort ignores. He ignores it because, when he parted his soul, he committed the most evil and unnatural of the Dark Arts. The soul is supposed to remain intact and whole... splitting it is an act against nature, and the humanity in Voldemort decreased with each Horcrux he created," said Dumbledore. "And this power that you have, as we already found out Harry, is love. It's the love of your mother that protected you from Voldemort's attack when you were a baby, and it's your capacity to love that has kept you safe since. Don't live without love, Harry, don't ever, ever forget about love."

Harry stared intently at his former Headmaster, and then nodded slowly. "Where shall we start our quest, Professor?" he asked.

"Oh, I had a small idea on this matter, Harry, and I allowed myself to suggest it to Mr Scrimgeour," said Dumbledore.

"The Minister for Magic?" exclaimed the young people in unison. Harry couldn't avoid wincing at the very mention of the man's name.

"Himself, yes," replied the old man. "My dears, one other thing that you cannot forget during your quest is to seize opportunities, whenever they may come... and from whomever they may come, alas. Opportunities multiply as they are seized, and this is what we usually call luck. Never forget this, Harry. But you will understand my words by tomorrow morning, probably," he said in an enigmatic tone.

"Before I shall ask you to go to bed –as it is getting very late, one last thing," added Dumbledore. "Harry, please open the first drawer on my former desk, there is something there I would like you to have."

Harry promptly executed the old man's request, finding a phial full of a thick crimson liquid. "It's dragon's blood" said Dumbledore. "It belongs to one of the most dangerous species, a Hungarian Horntail. I personally encountered this fellow during a packaged broomstick tour of Eastern Europe, a few years ago. As you probably know, I have been credited with discovering the twelve uses of dragon blood, but, to this day, I only revealed one."

"It's a great oven cleanser," said Hermione wisely.

"Right again, Hermione," said Dumbledore, winking. "However, there is another use for it, extremely valuable, which you will discover… somewhat soon. But you need to be prepared for that, Harry, and meanwhile you must keep this phial in absolute safety. It is extremely important," he said in a quizzical way again.

"Thank you very much for your help, Professor," said Harry, nodding. He was realising with a deep sadness that they wouldn't be able to meet any time again soon, and that speaking to his former Headmaster's portrait, as frustrating and sad as it had seemed at first, was altogether soothing and comforting.

"My pleasure, Harry, my pleasure." And, as if reading the young man's thoughts, Dumbledore continued in a warm voice. "Don't worry. I won't move from here, so you will be able to pay me a visit whenever you want. There is no more reason to forbid Apparitions into the Castle grounds, now that the school is closed," he said, sorrowfully. "But Apparition is unreliable over long distances, and, I reckon, you haven't passed your test yet. In that case, you could also use…" he hesitated, then added, "Let's say this stool over here," indicating a rickety, small old seat in a dark spot of the room. It was piled with gold-leafed books which looked ready to meet the ground anytime soon.

"Do you know how to make it into a Portkey?" asked Dumbledore.

"I know how!" answered Hermione, rummaging in her pocket to disentangle her wand from the cloth then unsheathing it in a flash. "Accurro Promptus!" A dazzling purple light illuminated the whole room immediately. "I just enchanted the seat, so we can transport it back to the Gryffindor Tower safely by the legs," she said proudly, tucking the wand back in her pocket.

"Very well, Hermione," said Dumbledore approvingly, then added, looking intently at Harry, "Remember, Harry, I will only be gone when no one is loyal to me anymore. And as I was saying, the remotest place I intend to go for now is Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry. I have always dreamed of seeing a troll dance ballet."

A few moments later, as he crawled in bed, Harry found himself his eyes wide open in the dark, thinking once again of the journey he had to undertake. But, in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of that final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there were still a few times of peace left to enjoy with his friends.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Ministry's owl

In the morning, after an almost sleepless night, the students rose early for their last breakfast at Hogwarts –yet no one seemed hungry. The tables, including the staff's, were nearly empty. When Harry entered the Great Hall, his eyes bloodshot, he was welcomed with a mournful hum.

Just then, the post arrived. A few owls streamed into the Great Hall, circling the tables until they saw their owners, dropping letters on to their laps.

Hedwig, Harry's owl, fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a letter on Harry's plate, ruffling her feathers importantly and looking extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he seized her burden, then flew across the room to the window, into the sunlight. Puzzled, Harry tore the letter at once, seeing the nasty purple wax seal on the back of it, and recognising the yellowish parchment and muddy-green ink.

Dear Mr Potter,

Professor Dumbledore's death has been a dreadful tragedy for us all. I fully understand that, devastated by sorrow, you have been unable to ponder, thoroughly and dispassionately, the Ministry's proposition, offering protection to you and your friends.

The boards of Ministers have further discussed this vital matter. I shall not conceal that some additional evidence, corroborating the existence of a "prophecy" linking you to He Who Must Not Be Named, has recently reached the Ministry's ears.

As you doubtlessly know, some rumours have already revealed to the public that, about eighteen years ago, Ms. Sybil Trelawney, today a beloved and admired Hogwarts' Professor, has made a prophecy about a boy –a boy with the power to vanquish the greatest Dark Sorcerer of all times, a Sorcerer whose name most Witches and Wizards still fear to speak. This boy was supposedly to be born the following year, at the end of July, to parents who had defied, no less than three times, our supreme enemy.

In recent times, and in the utmost secrecy, I have personally been granted the honour of receiving further substantiation about this prophecy. My informer (a person you highly esteem) has confided to me his eyewitness report, revealing that the Prophecy also stated that He Who Must Not Be Named would mark this child as his equal, believing the young boy would turn out to be the most dangerous person to him –as he would have to either kill him, or be killed by him. Yet, this boy would have a strong power within him, a power that the Dark Sorcerer knows not – a power that could, today, save the Wizarding world from disarray, mass killing and in all probability total destruction.

If these facts are true, Mr Potter –and our sources seem to be most definitely reliable– you will surely understand that the situation is extremely delicate, and your position vulnerable.

Again, the Ministry has decided to offer you its help. A Department for Auror Advance Guard Crash Training, headed by Miss Nymphadora Tonks, has just been created. This Department, if you accept, will welcome you and your friends, Miss Hermione Granger and Mr Ron Weasley, and train you to become Ministry Aurors in a few months.

I hope you will be able to reconsider your position and accept this generous offer. This is a high level training in advanced magical fighting that will allow you plenty of new possibilities –especially as Hogwarts, our noble institution of Witchcraft & Wizardry, has been closed by the school governors.

I'm absolutely sure, Mr Potter, that the whole Wizarding community will be thankful for your collaboration. Our families will be safer with trained guardians like you by their side.

If you accept, please send your answer as soon as possible. The training starts on August 1, at the Ministry Headquarters.

Yours sincerely,  
Rufus Scrimgeour  
Minister for Magic

Harry stared at the letter, bewildered. A thousand ideas seemed to explode inside his head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to process first –wondering how the prophecy had been confirmed to the Ministry, how much time would it take before it went public, what the acceptance of such a "generous" offer should involve… and realising that he was, again, been offered special treatment, just for being who he was. Then, how irksome it could seem, he realised he also felt… happy –becoming an Auror had been his dream for years.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny glanced at Harry with concern, waiting for him to share the news with them.

"Come on, spit it out," said Ron.

Taken back from his reverie, Harry answered quickly, his eyes shining with a strange glow: "Ron, Hermione, we are being offered by the Ministry a crash training to become… Aurors."

Hermione gasped, and Ron stood open-mouthed. Ginny was the first to recover from the shock. "This is a very clever move, I doubt old Scrimgeour came up with that idea alone." Ron, Hermione and Harry exchanged meaningful looks. Ginny sensed their connection and added, in a weird voice: "Well, I suppose it's time for… congrats."

"Let me see this letter," said Hermione, her hand outstretched. Perusing the document at least a dozen times, she said: "I see that the full 'prophecy' story reached Scrimgeour's ears, and I hope it won't get out of hand… this Rita Skeeter journalist would die to have this scoop published in the Daily Prophet, with full details." She paused, putting the letter back in its envelope. "Yet… I think we cannot refuse this offer," she said gravely. She waited for a possible reaction, but nobody spoke. "I think that it's the best thing that could happen to us. It's… an opportunity. We are alone, in the middle of a war, elaborating crazy schemes, without even the means to finish our education… yes, I never thought that something so great would be offered us."

"Yeah, you are right… I think," said Ron at last. On his side, he had imagined a slightly different future. The idea of holding, someday, the International Cup of Quidditch –the most popular sport in the magical world– had haunted his dreams since his first year at Hogwarts… but all was different now, he realized sadly.

Everybody turned mechanically to Harry, waiting for him to make his decision. He had been staring at the sugar bowl for several minutes now, as if it could contain the answers to all his questions –chewing wildly on his lower lip again.

Sensing his friends' questioning gaze, Harry jerked his head up. "Okay…" he said tentatively. "I cannot see any other option right now, anyway… it has to be the right decision?" The others just nodded. "It's a deal then. We are all going to be trained to become Aurors, the three of us, together…" The faint shadow of the first genuine smile in weeks crossed his lips.

"We are indeed," said both Ron and Hermione. Ginny nodded, stabbing her fork in a waffle. They all fell into a deep, thoughtful silence, their minds very, very far away. Earlier than planned, their school life at Hogwarts had ended, and their path was taking quite an unexpected turn.


	7. Chapter 7 - Back to Privet Drive

It was nearly midnight, and Harry was laying flat on his bed, fully dressed, his eyes wide open in the darkness once again –he had been doing it quite often, lately. He was trying to process all the unexpected events that he had had to undergo in the last few days.

The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley were his only living relatives. They were Muggles, and particularly close-minded ones. They had lived for years in the vain hope that, if they managed to keep Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful, and now lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry was a Wizard.

It was then fully understandable that Harry's presence wasn't particularly welcome at number four, neither at this time nor on any occasion. However, Harry had come back there once more, because Dumbledore had wanted him to. He didn't understand exactly the reason –something to do with the fact that, being close to his mother's blood, which came on the form of Aunt Petunia, and until he could call the place where his mother had dwelled home, he would be safe. He had therefore been loyal, once again, to his former Headmaster, and decided upon making a short, and hopefully last, visit to the Dursleys.

It had been five long, tough days indeed. Year after year, as Harry had got older, poised and mastered magic better, they had seemed more afraid of him. And they were well aware now that, for a strange reason that they preferred to ignore, Harry was allowed to do magic anytime he wanted, even outside the school. This was why, every time he entered a room where the family stood together (afraid to be more vulnerable if they split), he perceived Aunt Petunia shiver, Uncle Vernon freeze and Dudley let out a slight, terrified shriek.

"But tomorrow morning, all this will be finally over," he thought, savouring the idea intensely. He would be free at last, free to forget all the dreadful years he had spent at the Dursleys', living in the cupboard under the stairs, almost starving, wearing his cousin's old, worn-out clothes…

Somehow, his thoughts wandered to Ginny, and the quick dash of pleasure he was feeling brutally ended. It was true that they had been a twosome for a few weeks before Dumbledore's death, and Harry had felt perfectly happy –or, at least, as happy as he could be, knowing who he was. After all, as the so-called Athanasius had pointed out, and as frustrating and maddening as it felt… it wasn't meant to be. He was 'the boy who lived,' the boy whose name was known by every living Witch or Wizard, the boy upon whom a deadly prophecy had been made… His parents, his godfather and Dumbledore had already died in the attempt to protect him. All this had to end. He had to focus on the destiny he was meant to have, not allowing the people he loved to die for him, to be used against him by his greatest enemy. This was the reason why he had told Ginny that they couldn't be together anymore.

Completely weighed down by these thoughts, Harry closed his eyes and lost the awareness of time, of his body, of where he was. When the door suddenly opened with a loud bang, he jumped so hard that he almost thought he would smash his face on the ceiling.

Aunt Petunia was standing on the doorstep, a flickering candle in her hand, wearing a flannelled pyjama and a flowered dressing gown. She had buttoned it tightly up to her chin and was looking at Harry sternly through small, square glasses, with her head back and her neck longer than ever. She had the look of someone who was experiencing a hard time in swallowing a piece of something that was stubbornly stuck into her throat. "I've got something for you that you'll probably want to have. And it's bloody time that this thing left the house, too. Come with me."


	8. Chapter 8 Aunt Petunia's unexpected gift

Harry followed Aunt Petunia as she rushed, with hurried steps, along the corridor. He felt rather grumpy, yet he couldn't suppress a dash of curiosity from niggling at the back of his mind. Abruptly, she came to a halt, and Harry barely avoided an unwelcome collision. She gave him another sharp look, and then slowly directed her eyes towards the ceiling.

Surprised, Harry did the same. He saw a small trapdoor above his head and remembered all of a sudden that this was the way to the attic. He understood what his aunt meant for him to do, and seized a long stick, with a small bracket at the end of it, hidden in a cupboard along the wall. After three or four failed attempts, punctuated by Aunt Petunia's annoyed sighs, he managed to catch it on a small hook placed on the trapdoor, and pulled hard. The door started to descend with a loud creak.

"Stop making all this fuss!" hissed Aunt Petunia. "How many times have I told you to oil this horrible door?" Seizing the stick herself, she finished the job with a thunderous crash. Harry peered around, holding his breath, sure that they had wakened the whole house and immediate neighbourhood, but he registered a pair of loud roaring snores coming from his cousin and uncle's rooms. Breathing again, he looked up and saw his aunt climbing the stairs that had come down with the trapdoor –in quite an inelegant swinging movement that surely didn't show her best profile. He lowered his eyes very quickly and started to climb the stairs carefully, taking every step with measured caution.

When he arrived at the summit, Aunt Petunia was already rummaging in a corner of the dark, dusty room, in what appeared to be an extremely old pea green trunk. Wondering what on earth all this was about, Harry started to walk towards her, but the darkness didn't make his progress easy, and he stumbled over a few unknown objects carelessly abandoned on the floor. Aunt Petunia shushed him sharply twice before he could manage to reach her and look past her shoulders to see what was there.

The moth-eaten trunk contained a huge variety of unexpected objects –a long, dark robe with some holes here and there, a few old books and a wealth of yellowish parchments, some quills and… what appeared to be an old wand. Harry's heart sank as he suddenly understood to whom the trunk must have belonged.

"This is my mother's stuff!" he screamed, forgetting all precautions. "You had my mother's stuff up here from the beginning and never told me!"

"These are the belongings of a Witch," said Aunt Petunia, emphasising the last word disdainfully. "Do you think I would have been glad to have a silly child wandering around the house and the street with dangerous weapons? You can keep everything that is here, if you want, I will be more than happy to get rid of all this rubbish," she hissed, and, with a loud triumphant exclamation, she seized an object that was hidden under a pile of items at the bottom of the trunk and brandished it in front of Harry's eyes.

"I presume that you will particularly appreciate this piece of evidence," she said.

Harry carefully took it from her hands. The object he was holding seemed to be a heavy, dusty leather-covered book, with a golden edge which looked as if it had been used repeatedly. Harry flicked it open and gasped. It wasn't a book, but a photo album. In front of him stood his parents, in the middle of a bright, teal-coloured room. They were beaming to the camera, holding a newborn baby child.

"And before you ask why I have never shown this to you," said Aunt Petunia in a cold, menacing voice, "please note that all these silly photos are moving by themselves."

It was true: as in any other picture taken with magical cameras, the photos on the album had captured not only the instant, but the movement. Harry's mother was looking at the photographer, then back to her baby, kissing him lovingly on the forehead. Harry's father had one arm curled around his wife and was waving the other furiously towards the camera. The baby was the only one who wasn't moving, but sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms.

Engrossed by the object he was holding, Harry barely noticed as Aunt Petunia backed away, descending the stairs to her room.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Kwikspell

Obviously, Harry hardly got any sleep that night. Carelessly seated on the floor with his back resting on the old trunk, any discomfort forgotten, he spent hours looking through the photo album and analysing all the objects and parchments he could find.

He discovered that the album contained hundreds of pictures, much more than Hagrid had managed to secure for him, a few years before, from his parents' friends. The photos retraced his mother's entire life: her school days at Hogwarts, her husband-to-be, their marriage, her pregnancy and of course, their newborn child… everything had been captured by a magical camera. "She must have met a Colin Creevey's ancestor, there is no other way," whispered Harry, bewildered.

Paging through the album, Harry discovered the child his mother had been, grinned at the grimaces she made at the camera, watched her change with the years and become a woman whose face, until then, he barely remembered. He noticed that she had delicate features and a joyful expression that illuminated every picture with a special glow. Harry's heart gave a funny jolt when he saw his father, first a teenager in school robes and muddy Quidditch uniforms, then a man who, when he looked at his wife, wore the softer expression that Harry had ever seen in anyone.

Rummaging further in the trunk, Harry also found tons of ripped and yellowish papers: jotted lessons, personal notes, experimental potion recipes with strange herbs glued onto the paper, old press articles and even postcards from far distant countries. He also came across several letters that his parents had exchanged during their summer vacations at school times, then in later periods of their lives.

His eyes fixed determinedly upon the pages, Harry made his lips disappear completely into his mouth, engrossed in his reading. He had never known exactly the kind of people his parents were, what they thought, what they liked. Indeed, his father was an undying Quidditch fan, and, even if he had the bad habit of hexing anyone who annoyed him, he appeared to have strongly changed over the years. His mother seemed an amazing person –both a beautiful mind and a loving heart, ready to see the good in everyone. She seemed to have been, years before Hermione, revolted by the house-elves' condition. The words Harry read spoke of gentle, open-minded and happy people, and he, whose only living relatives until this day had been the Detestable Dursleys, felt elated.

When the trunk was almost emptied, its contents scattered all around the floor as if a Shot-Blasting Spell had been cast on the room, Harry noticed a worn-out wooded box, half hidden by old clothes. Its keyhole and edges were adorned with brass, and it had a delicately wrought ebony handle –it was the perfect type of "treasure box" in which teenagers would safely hold their most valued belongings.

Fortunately, the keyhole seemed to be broken and the box was unlocked. Harry opened it carefully and started to pull out the strangest variety of objects: a small bottle of perfume, many phials with enigmatic labels, an old watch, a variety of keys, some golden rings, a purple necklace and a silver locket. Harry recognised immediately the necklace and the rings –his mother was wearing them in all the pictures he had seen. The perfume was also hers: as soon as he opened the bottle, he felt a strong emotion travel in shivers down his spine, his mind moving back instantly to the times when she had held him in her arms. The watch was probably his father's, and it fitted Harry perfectly. The strangest object was the locket: it was very beautiful, engraved with an "H" in nice, curly writing.

When he finished pulling out the objects, Harry distinguished something else underneath. It was a large, glossy, purple envelope, with silver lettering in the front, so stuffed with papers that it was ripped on the sides. He picked it, thinking it somehow looked familiar, and read: KWIKSPELL, A correspondence course in Beginners' Magic. In a flash, Harry remembered that he had seen the same papers back in his second year at Hogwarts, when he was waiting in the dingy and windowless caretaker's office, Mr Filch, for a detention.

Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More silver writing on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? This is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of Witches and Wizards have benefited from this method!

In the middle of the half-completed forms, Harry found another letter from his mother, apparently addressed to her sister. Opening it, he started to read.

Dear sister,

You will find enclosed a very interesting course that I ran into, completely by accident I must say, while I was paying a visit to our caretaker. It is for Wizards and Witches who want to improve their magic skills. I know that you would probably throw it back at me with rage if I were there, but please, Petunia, give it a thought. You know what magic can offer you, even if you always say that it's all useless nonsense. I understand that you feel frustrated, especially as Mum & Dad are so proud that I went to Hogwarts. They are worried for you and would be so happy if you just gave it a chance. With just a bit more confidence, you would manage this really fine. I have no doubt!  
You know, I miss you really much. I regret your decision to turn your back on everything that is magical and join the Muggle world. I don't feel that your new friends can really make you happy –but if you say so, I'm happy for you. I look almost every day at the pictures we took the last time we met, two years ago (don't worry, I won't send you a copy, I know how you feel about "moving" photos).

Love you always,  
Lily

Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Aunt Petunia want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean that… she was a Witch, but not a proper one? If she was a Squib… maybe Harry's grandparents, on his mother's side also, had been Witches and Wizards? Realizing that he hardly knew anything about his family, Harry felt a pang of frustration. So this was the truth. Aunt Petunia had been jealous of his mother's success, jealous of the ability she had proven to have with magic. This was the real reason why, during all these years, she had made him pay for the suffering she had experienced, this was the reason for her hatred of everything magical.

All this comforted Harry in the idea that he didn't belong there, and the sooner he could leave, the better. At dawn, his sore muscles and sleepy eyes won the battle he was having with himself. He gathered carefully the objects scattered on the floor and closed the trunk, lifting it with his wand and carrying it to his room.

In the morning, as soon as the Dursleys awoke, he joined them in the kitchen.

"Aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon, Dudley. Before I go, I want to thank you for the years during which you have taken care of me," Harry said, adding for himself mentally "… even if you made me live in a cupboard, starved me to death, made me wear horrible clothes, never showed me any affection and never once spoke to me about my parents." Then he added, loudly: "I'm leaving you a present that will, I hope, repay you a little for all the trouble that my presence may have given you." He put an envelope on the kitchen table. "I have to get going, Mr Weasley is going to pick me up by the Floo network in a few minutes, so goodbye."

Uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia nodded, and Dudley just stared blankly at Harry, focused on gnawing a huge sausage. When Harry went out of the room, uncle Vernon seized the envelope to find… a cheque for 100.000 pounds and a note. "Dear Aunt and Uncle, this sum is for the rent of the cupboard. Unfortunately, I only have goblin magical ink left. It tends to erase quite quickly, but I think you have about 10 minutes to deposit this cheque in the bank. It's still worth a try, I hope. Good luck."

As the Dursleys ran flat-footed out of the door to get their car and drive at breakneck speed to the bank, Harry had already gone.


	10. Chapter 10 - Last days at the Burrow

Life at the Burrow was as different as possible from life in Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' crooked house burst with the strange and unexpected. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's wasn't the talking mirrors, the howling Ghoul in the attic or even the gnome-filled garden: it was the fact that the house was full of love and gentleness and, most of all, that everybody there liked him.

The Floo network had taken Harry and Mr Weasley directly from the small, cream-colored mantelpiece in the Dursleys' sitting room to the huge, cavernous fireplace in the Weasleys' cramped kitchen. They stepped out from the roaring flames which had turned emerald-green, coughing. Harry didn't like this travelling system much: he always felt like he was being sucked down a giant plug hole, his whole body spinning and spinning until he felt sick.

The whole family was sitting in the kitchen's table, having breakfast –Mrs Weasley, Ginny, the twins, Bill and even Charlie, who was back from Eastern Europe. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Remembering how she used to be shy and clumsy every time he showed up some years before, she laughed heartily along with the others, her face glowing like the setting sun.

Looking at her, Harry, who was still somewhat dizzy, felt as his ribcage had suddenly been shrunk by some odd type of spell, making his heart ache in protest. And, as Mrs Weasley took him in her arms, squeezing hard, all the air in his body seemed to be sucked away. Soon, he found himself sitting around the table, wondering how he had got there, several plates pushed in front of him (sausages, pancakes, porridge, eggs, toast, marmalade and pumpkin juice), every Weasley speaking at the same time, welcoming him and bombarding him with questions, as Mrs Weasley fussed about the state of his clothes and his thin body.

"Mr Weasley," said Harry, "I discovered a new Muggle invention that will probably interest you. My cousin had it as a gift for his last birthday, it's called the Internet. It works on a special machine that is called a computer, and that is connected to other similar machines all around the world. With that, you can communicate with your friends, get informed on everything about everything, create your own page… I've only got a glimpse as Dudley never wanted me to touch it, but it seems great!"

"This is very interesting, how handy are those Muggles, indeed!" answered Mr Weasley, narrowing his eyes with excitement, before he started to ask Harry thousand of questions about this fantastic new device.

Harry felt warm, and he felt at home. As he started to eat hungrily, speaking and joking between mouthfuls, he realized that he was feeling really happy for the first time in weeks. No matter what, he decided he would take the best of it –take the best and prepare for the tougher times yet to come. On the wall, a newly bought magical clock turned its long hands until it settled on "Family (almost) reunited. Toast burning."

****please review ;-) ****


	11. Chapter 11 - The Wizarding wedding

Should a Muggle, by any chance, be allowed to catch even a small glimpse of a Wizarding wedding, he would be most definitely astounded. In the Muggle world, for some reason somewhat unexplained, marriage is already considered a magical day; in a perfect logic, for Wizards and Witches, it is an absolute supernatural day.

Harry had spent the last five days at the Burrow, the Weasleys' home, waiting for Bill and Fleur's marriage to take place. Everyone there, even if worried by the latest events and completely overbooked with the wedding arrangements, had been kind and nice, making him feel comforted. Hermione also had joined them and was sleeping in Ginny's room.

Harry felt both admiring and positively thrilled that, in such a dark and gloomy time, the Weasleys had allowed something as simple and marvellous as a marriage to take place. Of course, there would most certainly be a few Ministry employees hanging around during the ceremony, securing the perimeter and taking care that nothing unpleasant happened. Harry had decided to ignore them completely and if possible spend some enjoyable moments with his friends.

Harry and Hermione, who had been raised by Muggles and never witnessed a Wizarding wedding, seeing everybody hectic, didn't dare to ask questions but were awfully curious to see what was coming about. Every now and then, they exchanged questioning looks, usually answered by one of them shrugging the shoulders and smiling, at a loss.

Mrs Weasley had spent the last weeks creating the finest ceremonial clothes for the whole family. As soon as the young people had come back from school, they had been asked to stand up in the middle of the overcrowded living room. "Please don't move, hold your breath, don't move a muscle," had asked Mrs Weasley. "I have to take your exact measurements; I have been working without them until now. It was guesswork; I'm not satisfied with the result."

"Medimnum!" she had exclaimed, raising her wand. In the same instant, dozens of tape measures, safety pins, scissors and every kind of imaginable tissue and fabric –tartan, taffeta, calico, gloss, moiré, organza, jacquard, silk, velvet, chenille, satin and linen, in any possible colour, with the most amazing wand-made embroideries, had jumped into the air, directed straight toward the young people's bodies. Harry had gulped hard, not daring to let out his breath, until the process of measuring, cutting, pinning and creating pattern types and sizes was over.

"Now, I'm satisfied," had said Mrs Weasley with an approving nod. "Can you please go and degnome the garden now? It would be most inconvenient if a guest found a gnome in his glass during the ceremony."

The morning of the wedding day had also been full of surprises. Since dawn, the house had been in complete turmoil. From the window of his room, Harry had watched, entranced, as crowds of Goblins had begun the long procession of deliveries, starting with huge bunches of incredible unknown flowers. There were all varieties of striking blooms with otherworldly colours, magically bred by Wizarding botanists and horticulturists: ultraviolet blue tubular flowers, accented with red and pink; lovely bright yellow, bell-shaped roses with inner petals of magenta that extended beyond outer ones of lilac; cascading bouquets of lavenders and plums; oriental lilies marked with dramatic purple tiger stripes; sparkling white, red, pink, orange snapdragons, big as sunflowers; daffodils, hyacinths, tulips and ranunculus –mixed with exotic miniature orchids and larger than life amaryllis, arranged with northern forest foliages hold with invisible ribbons.

A delightful fragrance that was both powdery and sweet was in the entire house, mixed with the scent of orange blossom, lavender and citrus. A huge procession of butterflies, attracted by the flowers, twirled around joyfully.

A gigantic transparent basin, full of sparking, salted water and wild marine plants had also been left at the doorstep. "It's for the Merpeople," Ron had explained , sensing Harry's silent question. "There is this music group, 'The Blumaris Band', that plays hot live music for marriages. Fleur managed to have them singing for us all evening!"

"But Ron," Hermione finally asked. "How will all these people fit in your garden yard? Even if you put a big tent…"

"Oh, we won't be using the garden! We will be using the clouds!" answered Ron matter-of-factly. "And mum is ecstatic, it seems to be a very cloudy day, a perfect day for a wedding!" he added, his nose directed towards the sky, before he returned hurriedly back to the house, leaving Harry and Hermione still more perplexed.

He came back a few moments later, holding his wand. "Mum has been asking me to do this all morning, and I forgot –better do it before she gets really mad," he said. He directed his arm to the sky and shouted "Descendo!"

A small cloud above their heads started to move silently, growing, inflating then stretching down until it touched the ground. Harry and Hermione stood open-mouthed. A Goblin, who was standing behind them, his brow fully covered with thick hair and his mouth filled with yellowed, crooked teeth, pushed Ron on the side, snapping "Ziz was about time!" With a loud whistling sound, he called his colleagues, and then started to climb the cloud that now formed a long aisle leading to the sky. A crowd of French Goblins, all with pointed beards, appeared out of thin air, carrying their deliveries hurriedly to the clouds.

"Let's go to get ready," said Ron, dragging his friends towards the house.


	12. Chapter 12 - The ceremony

Two hours later, just as the day was wrapping up and the sun was starting to sink low in the sky, sending a million fantastic shadows, red, yellow and orange, flying over the clouds, the whole family met in the garden, fully dressed and all set. In spite of himself, Harry quickly scanned the garden for unwanted intruders –gnomes, Ministry employees or worse, but luckily none of those was present or at least discernible.

Bill was already there, a broad smile plastered all over his face –obvious evidence that he was starting to feel critically tense. His skin had healed since his encounter with the werewolf, but some scars were still visible on his cheeks and forehead. As Harry couldn't avoid noticing, his mouth was also somewhat stretched to the sides, giving the impression that he was permanently smirking . Charlie was patting his back soothingly.

"Mum, dad, I want to thank you so much for having organised all this," said Bill, smirking even more. "I know the wedding plans gave you a lot of trouble in the last days."

"Fleur had already booked and organized everything in advance, it was easy for us," answered Mrs Weasley. "And she did a wonderful job in hiring this French Goblin wedding company, leading them with an iron hand to make it work in every single detail. I was impressed…" she added, a hint of admiration perceivable in her voice. "Let's go up and see if everything is ready now, the first guests will be arriving any minute," she said, patting her son's shoulder affectionately and rearranging his robe.

They were all wearing vividly coloured, feathered and sequined robes and capes, in the purest tradition of great Wizarding weddings.

The men wore their robes over simple, elegant black velvet suits, adorned with Lethifold collars. Bill had a scarlet silk robe embroidered with an arresting Chinese Fireball dragon, matching his passionate personality. Ron and Harry, for their part, had probably spent the longest time of their life in front of the mirror, amazed by how the suits, a garment they were wearing for the first time, made them feel proudly handsome and fully grown-up.

The women wore long, strapless dresses and light organza capes, embroidered with Fairies, Sirens and Sphinxes. Their hair was pinned up in elaborate chignons, which seemed –and probably were– held by magic.

Hermione had a jade iridescent satin dress that fit her perfectly, making the green in her hazel eyes come out strikingly. She had needed a few moments of adaptation to these new womanly curves though, alone in her room, discovering for the first time how much her body measures had increased in certain places in the previous year, hidden under her school robes –especially around the chest.

Ginny was in a baby blue silk dress, with small ivory flower patterns pinned here and there. From the moment he had seen her, Harry had been unable to look away –even if he did so sideways, which also gave him a weird, twisted face. Hit by an unexpected, soupy light-headiness, he had concluded that she looked like an angel who had just, by a happy chance, landed from the sky.

When the family started to climb the misty aisle, Harry was very relieved to be offered the occasion to concentrate his attention on something other than Ginny. The cloud was now twinkling with tiny lights, as if dozens of little stars had been sewed on its fluffy, vaporous surface. When they arrived at the top, he thought that he had never come close to imagining such a strange and splendid place.

The cloud had been dyed with Scintillation Solution by the Goblins, and was shimmering like the purest crystal-studded rainbow. The tables, seats, plates and glasses were made of an otherworldly ice-like material, smooth and sparkling, yet warm. This glittering palace was encircled by the most astounding view of the hills and trees surrounding Ottery Saint Catchpole and beyond.

The magical flowers had been set about in incredible arrangements floating in mid-air over the tables, lit by thousands and thousands of flickering candles. The Merpeople's mellifluous music had already started from the watery depths of the basin. The tables were arranged to form a ten-pointed star, allowing every guest to talk with the others easily and leaving enough space in the middle for the ceremony and the dance. The "altar" where the ceremony would be held, was, in fact, an oversized translucent conch shell –which, Harry and Hermione were told, represented the magical union.

A whole variety of tempting dishes was arranged on a long banquet table, bursting with the most delicious Wizarding French cuisine: wand-picked snails with flavorful but almost odorless garlic, enchanted frog legs, Dragon wings à la mode, Skrewt suzette, all types of cheese made with Murtlap skimmed milk, and, of course, the finest vintage years of Wizarding breadfruit wines. Small Goblins in dark robes were waiting for the first guests to arrive, ready with overflowing trays of appetizers and coloured sparkling drinks.

Seeing that Harry and Hermione were all eyes, craning their neck to stare in every direction at once, Mr Weasley approached, smiling reassuringly, and started the explanations.

"A traditional Wizarding wedding may feature a nineteen-course meal as well as musical entertainment. Just before the marriage vows begin there is a wedding march called the Maskera, with dancers, drums, horns, and performers with flaming wands and swords," he said in a professorial tone.

"Anyway," he continued, "I think that even if the ceremonies and the traditions may be different between the Muggle and the Wizarding worlds, or if what you will see may seem strange or outlandish to you, there is something about marriage that is instantly recognizable no matter what. Marriage is the most solemn pledge we make in our lifetimes, the pledge to be true and faithful and loving to another human being. There are few joys in life as deep as the joy that springs from the well of true love and a lasting marriage."

His lecture was interrupted by a long crowd of arriving guests, their animated and joyful chatting covering up his voice. Harry noticed that all of them were also dressed in long, bright robes and capes, but few had the same, simple yet outstanding elegance that Mrs Weasley had managed to create with her own wand-made robes. Surprisingly, the most noticeable among them weren't Fleur's Veela relatives, fully dressed in puce Dragonskin, with their hair dramatically backcombed and their eyes rimmed in black kohl; nor the French Wizards and Witches who started to Apparate everywhere (the women wearing butter yellow powdered forelocks and the men polished, trophy-style beards); nor even Percy, his expression unreadable behind his horn-rimmed glasses and bushy eyebrows; it was surely a gigantic fat Witch, who appeared to be Mr Weasley's second cousin Martha, wearing a full-length salad-green gown with a bright pink jacket and an absurd turban.

The Merpeople performers changed the pace of their music, switching to a song that could have blown the roof off the house –if they had been in a house, Harry thought, and not in a cloud. It was most certainly the wedding march as, a few moments later, the bride arrived, surrounded by many dancers wearing white headpieces shaped into wings and covered with feathers.

Fleur was looking so astoundingly beautiful –as only a part-Veela could look, that men and boys would have been almost brought to a state of trance in her presence, had the other women not been watching them closely. Her moon-bright skin and white-silver hair that fanned out without wind were positively breathtaking.

She wore an elaborately embroidered crimson silk robe, covered in vivid purple iris and golden phoenixes, and a matching velvet cape with a sweep train. Great auntie Muriel's goblin-made tiara, encrusted with small crystals, was perfect with her silver hair. Around her neck, she wore two strings of shiny beads interwoven, "It symbolizes the joining of two families into one," whispered Mr Weasley, "and red is the bridal colour for good luck."

Bill was beaming as he advanced towards the conch shell, his beautiful bride on his arm, their parents and other guests gathering all around them. The dancers encircled the couple as the music softened, switching to a slow, soft flute tune, and the groom began to sing, bowing to his bride, his arms opened wide.

"Tenebrous, passionate Nymph,  
Scented of forests and hills,  
The most potent philtres  
Are weaker than your beauty.

You charm like the evening,  
And tear me open, Siren,  
Then look at my heart  
With eyes soft as moonlight.

Under your dear silken feet,  
I place my heart and happiness,  
Will you, beautiful Sorceress,  
Be the one I shall complete?"

"Ah, music," commented Mr Weasley, discreetly wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we can do with wands." Fleur answered with another song, in a crystalline voice, sounding like an incantation –she certainly had rehearsed it numerous times, as her French accent was almost unnoticeable. Harry saw that several men discreetly inserted ear plugs in order to avoid loosing their cool heads and making fools of themselves.

"Though your eyebrows' wicked slant  
Give you an intriguing air  
Which the angels do not share  
Sorcerer, whose eyes enchant,

Though sometimes to appease  
Mysterious rages in your soul,  
You bite and gnaw without control.  
Then with a mocking laugh you kiss,

My passion, terrible yet gay,  
With all my heart I bow before you,  
With that devotion to adore you  
That priestesses to sacred idols pay.

My soul is healed, restored and heated  
By you, all colour, warmth, and light,  
I will, Sorcerer with fiery eyes,  
Be the one to complete you."

With slightly trembling hands, Bill slipped three silver rings, one after another, onto his new bride's fingers, and she did the same. "A ring for friendship, a ring for love, and a ring for parenthood," explained Mr Weasley. "There can be no divorce in a Wizarding marriage, because the rings are enchanted –if they fit, it means that the couple is meant to be…"

After the exchange of vows, Bill and Fleur lit a candle –that had also probably been charmed, judging by the fact that it started to squeal in a loud, creaky voice. "You're married now! So kiss the bride, but please, do keep it dignified!"

The guests burst into applause, and Harry and Hermione were among those who clapped loudest. The dancers showered the bride and groom with wedding flowers, then, much to their surprise, with flaming wands, they burnt seven broomsticks, which ignited and were consumed promptly, then the ashes thrown away. "It's to dramatize the discarding of bad habits which endanger married life," said Mr Weasley.

Harry laughed heartily at this, exchanging a quick, mesmerized peek with Hermione. He didn't know if this quick, simple and open-hearted ceremony had touched feelings he never knew he had, but, like everyone there, he was feeling strangely light and happy.


	13. Chapter 13 - Party Conversations

The wedding ceremony was followed by the nineteen-course meal, as foreseen by Mr Weasley. The dishes in front of the guests were permanently piled with food; the remainder of the previous course faded away from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, only to be replaced by the next one. Even at Hogwarts, Harry couldn't remember having seen so many delicious things on one single table.  
Much to Harry's disappointment, though, in Wizarding weddings, the traditional seating arrangement was: women on one side, men on the other, in order to reunite the couples for the dance. Stretching his neck diplomatically and trying to catch a glimpse of the women's table, he saw that Hermione and Ginny were seated together. Mrs Weasley was seated next to Ginny and Cousin Martha on Hermione's side. The two young women didn't seem to be talking much, Harry noticed, even if the conversation at their table did look rather lively.  
In fact, just as Harry and many other guests, Hermione and Ginny were probably starting to feel warm and sleepy, maybe because they had eaten a bit too much, or because of the noise and the music. As often happens during wedding meals, at their table, the talk had turned to human relationships. Cousin Martha was giving her analysis on the matter at the top of her voice, for the whole table to hear. "People say that love is blind, but in fact you just need to close your eyes to a few flaws when needed, I dare say…"  
Not the least interested in the subject, Hermione turned to Ginny and asked in a low voice: "I heard that you are going to Beauxbâtons for the next term?" Ginny nodded.  
"Yes, I have to," she answered, looking not even a bit thrilled by the idea –from his far-ended table, Harry couldn't help but wonder what the two young women could be talking about. Failing to notice his enquiring gaze, Ginny went on, a heated frustration filtering through her voice. "I think that Mum really wants me out of here, with the war and all... I don't blame her, I would probably have done the same if I had been in her shoes… but it drives me really mad to know that I won't be here to help."  
"Yes, I know, Ginny. But…" said Hermione, before she was shamelessly interrupted by Cousin Martha.  
"And you, ladies, what do you think of this?" she asked deafeningly, failing to notice that the two young women hadn't listened to a word she had been saying, sure that they had been completely engrossed by her clever diatribe.  
Hermione blinked quickly. "We agree with you completely," she answered a second later, putting on her brightest smile. Ginny made a half snort, half chortle noise, trying to avoid bursting into an unsuitable laugh.  
"You do? Well, you are two wise young women then," said the old lady, looking a little taken aback. "I thought that the young witches of today were hopelessly romantic, full of foolish little ideas about first love, how it's supposed to last a lifetime…"  
Suddenly paying attention, Ginny was about to answer when her mother interrupted briskly. "Well, first romance, first love, I think that it's something really special anyway, to all of us," she said quickly. "Almost everyone remembers their first crush. Few experiences will ever be as intense, will they…?"  
"The first love is only the first lesson to learn," said Cousin Martha, downing her glass of wine in one single gulp.  
"I don't agree with you," said Ginny, her voice heavy with a sort of subdued emotion. "True love can be found at any age, and it can last forever!"  
"Nonsense," snapped back Cousin Martha. "Falling in love as a teenager is certainly more intense than the experience in adulthood. But these early relationships usually burn out as quickly as they started. One survey on Witch Weekly showed that at age fifteen, dating relationships last an average of only three to four months!" she said, point-blank, before swallowing a giant frog leg.  
Pushing back her chair, Mrs Weasley got up and placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Will you excuse us for a moment? We have to find something to blindfold the bride for the dance. Ginny, please, will you come and help me?"  
Answering Hermione's questioning look, Ginny whispered, "It's a stupid, old-fashioned tradition. Before the dance starts, the bride is blindfolded and spun all around while the unmarried girls dance around her –the one she places her tiara on is supposed to be the next to marry!"  
As she followed her mother to a quiet corner of the room, Ginny looked a little red in the face –what Harry, even from his distant viewpoint, didn't fail to notice. "Dear, please, don't take it this way," said Mrs Weasley in what she probably hoped to be a soothing voice.  
"Martha is a bitter, fat old witch who doesn't know anything about true love!" Ginny snapped back.  
Mrs Weasley gave her a quick, affectionate hug. "I know that Cousin Martha could use some more tact now and then, but don't judge her for this," she said, sounding amused. "She is speaking with her heart, and based on her own experience." Seeing that Ginny wasn't paying attention at all, Mrs Weasley sighed. "I know that you are feeling really bad at this moment. You liked Harry very much and you probably miss the relationship you had with him."  
Ginny suddenly felt her eyes watery, yet on fire, at the same time. "Yeah, and it's a probably a great way to find a solution to the Ministry's crisis, to have him on their side… the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One!" she said, furiously wiping her eyes.  
"Don't speak like that, dear," said Mrs Weasley. "I know you don't feel this way. The situation is extremely difficult, and Harry has an awful burden to carry. You can't do anything about it, you have to accept it and help him if possible, with your support." She paused. "If the two of you are meant to be together, there will be a time for this, but that time is, sadly, not now."  
"Do you also think that our… relationship is going to fade away, Mum?" asked Ginny, crossing her arms and looking extremely serious all of a sudden.  
Mrs Weasley opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it again. "Ginny, I know what you want to hear, but I can't lie to you," she said at last. "Rare are the young loves which last a lifetime. I'm not telling you that they don't exist; I'm telling you they are rare."  
Mrs Weasley paused again for a brief second. "Yet, if I know Harry as well as I know you, and I think I do, I can say that both of you are special people, rare people, open-hearted, intelligent, wise and kind young adults already. You both know what you are doing and how you feel." She squeezed Ginny's arm gently, and then continued in a thoughtful voice. "But life is long, dear, and sometimes it brings you to a whole different path than initially planned. Sometimes… a relationship that you recall a lot, that had been so strong, so self-defining, that taught you about your own identity, may change. And it's not a sad thing. Accepting this change also involves openness, sharing and trust, so it also contributes to maturity."

Ginny nodded and looked away, her face hard. Mrs Weasley shook her head. "You know, dear… I had a first love, too, when I was exactly your age," she said, and Ginny glanced back at her. "He was a little older than me –eighteen years old. It was like love at first sight, and it was a marvellous, yet soul-crushing experience… But even though the relationship ended, which seems like it might have been negative, the memories surrounding it are still so incredibly good. I learnt what made me happy in a relationship; I learnt and recognized it in your father immediately, when I met him, some years later."

"Why… why did you break up?" asked Ginny, brushing a tear from her cheek harshly and blinking rapidly to forestall the others that threatened to fall.

"Honestly, I can't remember," answered her mother. "A fight, but I'm not sure about what. I think it was, mostly, due to the fact that I was still at Hogwarts and he was adjusting to his new job, working a lot. We just had such different lives, it slowly broke us apart."

Ginny lowered her head, thoughtful. Her mother shook her arm gently. "Be patient, dear. When it will be time for you to wonder what to do, to decide what really makes you happy, I haven't the smallest doubt that you will make the right decision."

With an uneasy smile, Ginny nodded again, and, as Mrs Weasley offered her arm, they headed back to the wedding party. The bride had not only already been blindfolded, but a very red-faced, embarrassed Hermione was standing in a corner, a shimmering tiara pinned on her head.

"Will you dance with me?" asked Harry, resting his hand on Ginny's shoulder. She gave a small jolt and turned to look at him. His eyes were probably giving away what he was feeling –an edgy look that said "I miss you so much" all over his face. "Sure," she answered, putting her hand in his.


	14. Chapter 14 - Harry's best birthday

A few weeks later, Harry awake with his stomach giving a funny jolt. It was his birthday! And for once, he wasn't going to spend it at the Dursleys'. Letting out a long, happy breath, he lay a few moments more in bed, flat on his back, his bedroom windows thrown wide, tempting in a fresh morning breeze and the golden summer sun.

Harry was mentally reliving the weeks that had followed Bill and Fleur's wedding. It had been a great summer, his first month spent entirely at the Weasleys' home. He had discovered a whole new family life, a caring, loving and fun connection that he had never experienced before… even if, of course, Ginny had seemed somewhat strained all along. It was Harry who felt horribly awkward in her presence now, often making a fool of himself, never finding the right words...

Ginny was getting ready for her year abroad, at the Beauxbâtons Witchcraft and Wizardry Academy. Harry, together with Ron and Hermione, was already focused on the Auror training that was supposed to start the day after his birthday. They had respectively passed their O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) and S.K.E.W.s (Supremely Knotty Examinations in Wizardry) correspondence tests with several "Outstanding" and "Exceeds expectations" marks, especially, obviously, Hermione, who had done excellently again (a hundred and twelve per cent). Her only regret was that, being only a sixth year, she hadn't been allowed to pass a few N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) before leaving the school.

Harry opened his eyes, which he had kept closed, savouring his happiness. Yes, the only real dark shadow in his life now was the quest that was his own, the mission that he had to undertake in a short time, tracking down his enemy. Every day until then was but a temporary relief, a temporary bliss during which he desperately tried to keep at bay the mounting tension, to keep it from growing more insistent and paralysing.

Harry did feel frustrated, and not only a little, about the fact that the Auror training made him postpone his search, at least for the upcoming months. "But I'm not allowed to fail in my mission," he thought frequently, reciting this phrase as a mantra. "I'm the 'Chosen One', the only one who can fight and vanquish Voldemort." And the best way to avoid failure was, in everyone's opinion and especially Dumbledore's portrait's, preparation and just a little more experience.

On accepting the Ministry's offer, Harry had insisted upon being constantly informed of the latest news, knowing that every Auror in the Ministry was focused on tracking, night and day, Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Their enemies were apparently in hiding, unhurriedly raising an army to prepare for a strong return…

Just as he finished this last thought, Harry heard a quiet knock on the door. "Come on in," he said, already suspecting who could be his first morning visitor. Ron's red head appeared in the doorway, grinning. "Happy birthday, mate!" he said. "Thank you! Where have you been?" asked Harry, gesturing toward his friend's empty bed.

"Well, nowhere in fact," answered Ron. "I just woke up really early and couldn't get any more sleep, so I went wandering in the orchard, practicing some Quidditch…" A purple bruise on his left elbow, which he kept massaging while he talked, indicated that he probably had had a close match with himself.

"Ron, are you worried about something?" asked Harry point-blank, a concerned look creasing his forehead.

"What? No…" said Ron, his face colouring quickly.

"Come on… has it got something to do with the training?" asked Harry in what he hoped was an encouraging tone.

"Okay…" Ron said finally. "It's just that… I feel that this whole thing is a bit… strange…"

"Strange? What do you mean…?" insisted Harry, the crease in his forehead deepening.

"Well…" answered Ron, "I always knew that you were someone really special, mate… because of, you know, because of everything… but who am I, exactly?" he asked, opening his arms in a dramatic gesture. "I mean, am I being offered this Auror training just because I'm your friend? You know, technically… I don't really have the level, you know, we know, everybody knows that the Ministry of Magic usually seeks to hire only those with exceptionally good scores on their S.K.E.W.s, not to mention their N.E.W.T.s…."

"You had exceptionally good scores on your S.K.E.W.s!" said Harry.

"Exactly! And it also seems strange to me, if you want to know…" said Ron. "I found those correspondence examinations a lot easier than they were supposed to be… and they were organised by the Ministry. Listen, I'm not talking rubbish… I got an "Outstanding" in Herbology, Potions and Charms!"

"Ok, it does seem weird," said Harry, with a brief smile. "But in that case, Ron, you know that the only one among us who really has the level is Hermione. Maybe we are being offered a special treatment… but these are special times, and certainly the Ministry had to take special measures." He paused, staring gravely at his worn-out trainers. "At least, that's what Dumbledore told me. He reminded me that the Ministry's offer is an incredible opportunity for us all, and we have to take it. His advice is good enough for me for the time being," he said, trying to sound more convinced than he really felt.

"Yeah. You're probably right…" said Ron. "It's just that I never considered becoming an Auror before; I really can't picture myself being one…"

"You want to quit, Ron? Listen, I would totally…" said Harry.

"No way!" Ron shouted back. "As Hermione said once, we had the time to change our minds before, and we didn't. I'm with you, no matter what."

Harry nodded. "And now, you have to come downstairs", said Ron. "Mum has been awake since dawn, preparing all your favourite dishes for breakfast. I hope you are feeling hungry like a Grindylow, because you will need it if you don't want to disappoint her!" he said with a grin, knocking his friend on the ribs with his purple elbow, and regretting it the very next minute.


	15. Chapter 15 -A gift from Mr Weasley

Harry had decided to spend the day at Godric's Hollow, and Ron and Hermione would of course be accompanying him –which was quite convenient, as, in fact, Mrs Weasley intended to offer Harry, the same night, his first surprise birthday party ever, and she needed time to organise the festivities properly.

The young people were all fresh from their successful Apparition test. Harry, due to the exceptional circumstances, had been allowed to take it with Ron one day before his seventeenth birthday; Hermione, of course, had already passed it a few months before, flawlessly. Nevertheless, Apparition was, as Dumbledore had pointed out, still considered unreliable over long distances.

Therefore, as they didn't know any friendly fireplace close to their destination where they could easily land via the Floo network, they had got up early to reach the location by the most common and unexciting Muggle means.

As they were hastily finishing breakfast, Harry saw Mr Weasley enter the kitchen with a proud grin, visibly savouring in anticipation the effect of the news he was about to break to them. "Hermione," said Mr Weasley, biting carelessly into a muffin, "If I remember well, you told me that you passed your Muggle driving license a few weeks ago…?"

"Yes, I did," answered Hermione, who looked rather sleepy and wasn't truly in the mood for explaining again to Mr Weasley, a real Muggle-fanatic, what the test was about. She threw a desperate look at Harry, who swallowed his pumpkin juice hastily, trying to avoid choking with a laugh.

"Well then, I think that I have found a way to reach Godric's Hollow faster. Will you please come with me to the front yard?"

Puzzled, the three of them followed Mr Weasley outside, immediately spotting his old enchanted Ford Anglia parked close to the front door. Harry stared at it open-mouthed: somehow, it now looked brand-spanking new.

"It has been rescued from the Forbidden Forest by the Emergency Squad of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department. I had it fixed and refurbished by an experienced specialist –a few spells did the trick," said Mr Weasley proudly. "As Godric's Hollow is a Muggle village, I thought that a car would probably seem the most judicious way of travelling, compared to flying broomsticks or Hippogriffs –at least, after you land it on the ground."

"It's great, dad! It looks amazing!" said Ron, whistling, while Harry found himself momentarily at a loss for words. "Thank you so much, Mr Weasley!" he finally said.

"But Mr Weasley, do we have the Ministry's authorization to drive a flying car right under Muggles' noses?" asked Hermione, sounding worried.

"Of course, I requested it for you. But you have to be careful to activate the hiding device before you take off, and, of course, avoid deactivating it when Muggles are nearby," said Mr Weasley. "But it's not all… as I cannot use it properly myself, I would like to give it to the three of you, as a gift for your departure. The training location is probably secret, but I thought that having a car might come in handy anywhere you may be going."

The young people were positively thrilled by the gift and thanked Mr Weasley a thousand times, Harry most of all. Their backpacks overflowing with sandwiches and beverages that Mrs Weasley had insisted upon preparing for the trip, they got into the car promptly and were ready to leave. Ron sat in the back and Harry in the front.

"Ok, let's see," said Hermione to herself, deeply focused on the steering wheel. "Fasten the belt, see if the gear lever is on full stop, start the engine, pull on the shifter, change gear, press the accelerator, take off the brake lever… oh, and push the hiding button…"

"Are we going to leave the ground someday?" asked Ron. Harry laughed.

"Sorry, this is not really like driving an ordinary car –especially the take-off and landing parts!" said Hermione, sounding slightly miffed. She pushed the accelerator a little more than needed, and the car, after a hiccup, took off at what felt the speed of light, reaching and passing through the clouds in an instant.

"Waaaaaaaoooo watch out!" shouted Harry, feeling as if his stomach had been left on the ground.

"Sorry sorry sorry, won't do it again!" said Hermione, adjusting her speed. Harry glanced at her and, much to his surprise, realized that she had a huge grin all over her face. She laughed at his stunned look –she was looking quite astounded herself. Harry knew that she had never been fond of broomsticks, which seemed far too small and unsteady in her opinion. Yet, she was clearly finding herself somewhat light and energized by this new type of flying experience –and by being so close to the sky, so fast.

By the time they flew over Bristol, Hermione had already got perfectly accustomed to the car and was driving smoothly over the clouds, ready to deliver plenty of touristy, scenic information. "Oh, we are now flying over the City Museum and Art Gallery. It houses a huge collection of glassware and ceramics. And there is the zoo, I can see an elephant from here!" she said, excitedly. "And there is my house, just near my parents' dental practice." Harry looked down, paying attention for the first time since the beginning of the unsolicited guided tour, and realizing how little he knew about his friend's Muggle life.


	16. Chapter 16 - Godric's Hollow

Harry was feeling a deep, strong mix of emotions already, anticipating the long-awaited return to his parents' village. The Dursleys had never allowed him to go back there, not even once, despite his repeated pleadings. For Harry, visiting his parents' old house and graves on his birthday, the day before he would start a new life, wasn't a gloomy prospect, but a very special and important way of thanking them and saying goodbye, at least for the moment, to those who had given him life and protected it with their own.

As the crow flies, the journey to Godric's Hollow took less than an hour, as the village was somewhere in South Gloucestershire, Wales. It not only had been the home of Godric Gryffindor, one of the long-dead Hogwarts founders, and of Bowman Wright, the inventor of the Quidditch Golden Snitch, as Hermione proudly remembered; it was also the home of James Potter's family and the final hiding place of Harry's parents. In their Godric's Hollow house, Voldemort had tracked down and killed them, leaving Harry his lightning-bolt-shaped scar, sixteen years before.

"Is your house still there?" asked Hermione between cultural facts and figures.

"It's reported to have been almost totally destroyed by Voldemort's attack," answered Harry. "But I know that the Order of the Phoenix, on Dumbledore's orders, made a point of reconstructing it overnight –Muggles could have found it odd to discover a shattered house in the morning, especially as their memories had been erased by the Ministry's Obliviators…"

"But has it been vacant since then? It must be a mess, after all these years…" said Ron.

Harry smiled. "Dumbledore told me that the house had been enchanted in order to seem inhabited to the neighbouring Muggles, and kept in a good shape," he said.

When they reached their destination, after a somewhat chaotic landing, they discovered a charming typical South Gloucestershire village. Godric's Hollow was constructed almost completely from the local grey limestone and comprised two main streets, East Street and West Street, linked at their north end with a square. Around it, with its cross commemorating Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee of 1897, were clustered a small collection of shops, the post office, the church and some pubs.

"My parents' house must be over there," said Harry, unfolding a map he had found in his mother's trunk, together with several keys. "It's called The White Cottage."

Hermione continued to drive slowly until they reached a towering iron-wrought gate, featuring the house's name forged atop it –a detail that left no possibility for mistakes. Beyond the gate, Harry saw an alley planted with a fine selection of shrubs and trees, and, in the end, a beautiful country house surrounded by a terraced garden. The house was bright white, its walls covered in honeysuckle. It had a thatched roof and many windows with small square panes, every one of them complete with blossoming flowerpots.

"Whoaaa," said Ron. "It's gorgeous… if that house has ever been destroyed, I would like to meet the guy who was in charge of the Reparo charm. He has done quite a good job!"

Harry felt his stomach unclench from the mounting tension he had been feeling, but his heart started to ache instead. His head was full of emotions and memories –which he had trouble believing, as he was barely one year old when he had left this house forever.

Indeed, the house had been enchanted to seem inhabited, apparently by a family of five –two parents, a grandmother and three children, who were presently in the garden, having breakfast. The sound of children giggling and adults chatting pleasantly could easily be overheard from a distance.

Harry thought that all of them looked so strikingly… normal that the Dursleys would have been awfully envious if they had met. Nevertheless, when the young people, who had managed to open the gate with one of Harry's keys, approached the house, the pleasant sight started to vanish gradually. The closer they got, the more the figures seemed translucent, like some kind of see-through hologram. When they reached the terrace, Harry saw that the whole family had faded away completely, leaving the place clear of any inhabitant, imagined or incarnate.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried another key in the front door, which seemed to fit perfectly. After exchanging a quick yet apprehensive look with his friends, he opened the door and stepped in. He was welcomed by a great, bright light. Blinking twice, he peered inside to catch a glimpse of the surroundings. The whole room –like, he soon discovered, many other places in the house– seemed to have been designed around the windows, attracting every single ray of sunshine through the crystal clear panes.

At first sight, everything seemed ordered and undisturbed. The walls were a warm, luminous shade of white, contrasting with the highly polished, dark wood floor. The furniture was uncomplicated and comfortable, mostly in clear tones, enlivened with a few chosen colourful details –Harry noticed the fluffy hand-knitted cushions on the couch and some antique, thick wool rugs. The light and vaporous white muslin curtains falling from the ceiling seemed to float in the air, magically held. They captured and transformed the sunlight, giving it, in some places, a powdery, sweet and pale touch. Every single, carefully chosen piece of furniture gave the house a warm and friendly atmosphere.

"Good vibes," said Ron, whispering, as if he felt cowed by what he was seeing.

In fact, the three of them, and especially Harry, were more than relieved to see that apparently the gloomy events that had taken place sixteen years before hadn't the least affected the habitation. Even trying hard, a peaceful feeling was the only impression that Harry could experience there.

"Shall we inspect?" asked Ron. Harry nodded. "Yes, there could be some clue here that could help us…" he said. Moreover, he hadn't failed to see that there were a lot of personal items belonging to his parents left. As a few weeks before at the Dursleys', he felt thrilled in anticipation to be able to check them closely.

The three of them spent the following hours examining the house, floor to roof. There were five rooms on the second floor, including Harry's parents' and his own. Harry's room, as he had been a baby at the time, was painted in a bluish shade of green –he recognized it immediately from the pictures in the album. It was stuffed with toys, apparently magical, and harmless-looking teddy bears. Seizing one, Harry felt an overflowing, irrational emotion somehow reaching his eyes and water-staining his glasses. He was rescued by Hermione who gave him a quick hug.

What went unnoticed to them, though, was that, everywhere they went and anything they did, they were followed by a pair of eyes, watching closely every one of their moves.


	17. Chapter 17 - An otherworldly surprise

At noon, Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to eat their sandwiches in the garden, near a tiny lake they had discovered on the rear of the house. It was inhabited by a couple of whooper swans who floated happily under a willow.

After lunch, Harry left his friends chatting in this peaceful scenario and went back to the house –he had felt the need for a few moments alone inside, before they left Godric's Hollow and went back to the Weasleys'.

Just as he was about to sit in the living room's couch, he heard an eerie voice coming from behind him. "I'm happy that you finally came."

Harry was so surprised that he lost his balance, falling flat on his back on the floor. He dragged with him a small vase which stood on the coffee table and that scattered loudly in hundreds of tiny pieces, as soon as it hit the ground. As Harry's head emerged from behind the couch, looking apprehensively in the direction from which the voice had come, he had the most incredible surprise of his entire life.

In front of him, stood a tall ghostly figure… that he immediately recognized as his mother. "Mum…?" he whispered tentatively, his voice shaken with an incredible emotion.

"Yes, Harry!" said Lily, opening her arms wide, an acute feeling also filtering through her voice. Harry rushed to her, but soon discovered that, as he should have known, his mother couldn't be touched by living beings –his arms passed immediately through her ethereal body.

He came to a halt. He didn't know what to do or say; his mind seemed paralyzed by the overflow of questions and emotions.

"It's so good to see you, you have grown so much," whispered Lily. A hint of pride was now perceptible in her tone.

"How is… how is this possible…?" Harry managed to babble, trying to regain his composure.  
"Let's sit and talk," said Lily with a comforting look. "We have so, so much to say to each other…"

And they did, for the whole following hour, and good part of the next one. The words came out, at an incredible pace, almost never giving them the time to breathe. Harry had a thousand questions to ask, trying to make up for the lost time.

Outside, Ron and Hermione were also talking. "Do you think that he still needs to be in there by himself?" asked Ron, after more than an hour had passed.

"Ron, leave him alone! He will come back when he needs us," answered Hermione, visibly annoyed by her friend's recurring question. They didn't feel very comfortable with each other, after the difficult year they had experienced.

"Okay…" said Ron. Then, deciding to seize the occasion to improve the awkward situation they were stuck into, he tried out his luck. "Listen, Hermione, I want you to know… that I'm sorry…" he said, as if he hoped that these simple words would do the trick.

"About… what?" asked Hermione, probably already suspecting the reason but trying to buy time to think of a better answer.

"About… you know, about everything. I was… I have been… a little bit…" he babbled, shifting his position nervously.

"You are sorry to have behaved like… a jerk?" said Hermione, looking straight at him.

"Yes. You know, I had… I had this crush on you some time ago… it made me mad to know that you had made out with this… this person…" he managed.

"Well, it's too bad, because I had a crush on you some time ago, too. And if you hadn't behaved like a jerk, I would never have made out with that person. At all."

"You had? I mean, you had a crush on me?" asked Ron, startled.

"Of course I had," answered Hermione, shaking her head at his desperate childishness.

"Well, I don't know what to say…" answered Ron, twisting his mouth oddly.

"Well, the 'I'm sorry' part felt rather right to me," she said.

Ron smiled faintly, and she smiled back. "Okay, I'm sorry then, really sorry. And I don't want this to end our friendship… because, you know, I want us to be friends, like we always were."

"Yes," she said, smiling broadly now. "Since you have admitted it, it's okay. Let's move on… jerk," she added with a wink.

"Well, but now I'm wondering what could have happened… I mean, if you are still okay with a harmless smooch, feel free to ask…" he said.

"Get off me!" she said, laughing.

Then, they heard the sound of hurried steps –Harry was coming out from the house. "Hey, is everything okay?" asked Hermione. Harry was chewing on his lower lip again, a sign that she had learnt to decipher.

"Yes… I think," he said as he reached them. "No, I'm sure. Whatever. I… I want you to come back with me into the house… and meet my mother."

"Your… what?" screamed Ron and Hermione together.

"My mother… she… she is a ghost. She is a ghost haunting this house. She has been haunting this house for the last sixteen years, and nobody knew it," he said simply.

"Oh my…" said Hermione.

"Yes, I know," said Harry. "But you have to come immediately because she is fading away."

"Fading away?" asked Ron, still aghast.

"Yes… she felt that she had a task to do, I mean, this is why she didn't… go away… she couldn't accept her death until it was done," he said. He was feeling a bit feverish and tired now -as if he had aged at least ten years, in just a few moments.

Hermione rested a hand on Harry's back, and glanced at him intently. "Let's go," she whispered.

While they went back to the house, Ron asked, not really sure if he should address the subject in that precise moment, but giving it a try anyway, "Has she said something about the Horcruxes…? About Voldemort…?"

"No," replied Harry. "She doesn't know anything more than us that could help. But it was great to talk to her about… about the thing that I have to do, you know, according to the prophecy," he said. "Besides, she confirmed something I was already suspecting since my last visit to the Dursleys… in spite of what Dumbledore had always made me believe… she said that my family is… full blood."

"Full blood…?" asked Hermione, stunned, but they had already reached the terrace so she kept quiet. Entering the house, they immediately spotted the eerie figure that stood behind the garden door, hidden by the curtains.

"I'm very, very happy to meet you," said Harry's mother, immediately taking both Hermione's hands in hers –but sadly not able to grasp them. Hermione and Ron were still aghast, and Lily smiled softly. "I know that both of you have made my son happy, and certainly will do it for a long time still –because I feel your special connection." Saying this, she stared a brief second at Hermione, and then turned towards Ron with a grateful look.

"I'm feeling I'm going away now… my task is fulfilled," she said in a strange voice. Indeed, her figure was more and more vaporous and indistinct.

"Mum, please, don't go!" cried Harry, in spite of himself.

Lily smiled tenderly. "Harry, my dear, I have waited sixteen years for this moment. I needed to know that you were safe, that you had found your path. I can go peacefully now, join your father. I have no doubt, not a single doubt, my child, that you will have a happy life. That you will succeed in the task that is yours. I don't know how I know it… I just feel it, deep inside. I'm proud, desperately proud of the man you became, Harry, and I have faith in you, completely."

As she faded away with these last words, Harry felt his shoulders fall, but controlled himself. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, but she sensed that he didn't really need it. This quick, life-changing encounter had given him a force, an assurance that he had never shown before. He felt changed.

On their way back home, Hermione drove silently into the night, close to the stars, the full moon illuminating their path as a lampion and a light, warm breeze filtering through the open windows. Ron was sound asleep on the back seat, and Harry was completely lost in his thoughts. Above them, the illuminated cities looked like the heavenly, golden filaments of an incredible jewel set.

As they fled again over Bristol, Hermione looked down at her parents' house with a nostalgic yet happy expression on her face. Taken from his reverie and suddenly aware of her presence, Harry glanced at her sideways. He saw that the look of pleasure from the flying experience was still there, intact. She was glowing, her eyes shining like two small stars. She sensed his gaze and looked at him, their eyes locking for a few seconds. They smiled to each other sheepishly, saying no words. As he was allowed this small glimpse on an unsuspected side of his friend's personality, Harry caught himself thinking, for the first time, that she was growing up to become a really beautiful young woman.

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	18. Chapter 18 - A day at the Ministry

The tortuous old Central London streets were almost deserted at this time of the morning, apart from a few cats wandering drowsily on the sidewalks. Zigzagging to avoid the overflowing gutters, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked silently on a broad street, lined first with tall greyish buildings then, the further they walked, with smaller and shabby-looking houses.

All of them looked sleepy and lost in their thoughts, wondering how the day would be. Harry was also mentally reliving the previous few hours –from his visit to Godric's Hollow to the wonderful birthday party he had been offered, everything had been positively perfect, making him wonder how a single person could be happier in just one simple, brief day.

After a small and graffiti-covered pub, they stopped in front of an old red telephone box which was missing several glass panes. The receiver hung crookedly from the wall. A ginger cat, seated in a shadowed angle of the street and carefully licking a paw, stopped to stare at them attentively as Harry opened the door and stepped in, reaching for the receiver. His friends followed him, jamming Harry against the apparatus as the place was rather tight.

Six…Two…Four…Four…Two… he dialled. After a few seconds, a sharp female voice sounded, as loudly and plainly as though she were standing right beside them, startling everyone. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley for the Department of Crash Training for the Auror Advance Guard," Harry said, punctuating his words. "Thank you," answered the invisible woman. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes. Please note that you will be asked to present your wand for registration at the security desk." With a click, the badges, already printed with their names in silkscreen golden letters, slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared.

As Harry expected, the floor shuddered and the telephone box started to sink slowly into the ground with a dull grinding noise. After about a minute during which they could see nothing at all, a chink of golden light illuminated their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies, until it hit them in the face and they had to blink to stop their eyes watering.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the piercing woman's voice, sounding rather bored.

The door of the telephone box sprang open and they stepped out. They stood at one end of a very long hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor and a steady rushing golden fountain. Harry noticed that the peacock blue ceiling was still an enormous heavenly notice board, with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them.

Tonks was waiting for them at the Atrium. "Hi there!" she shouted joyfully, waving to catch their attention and encourage them to join her. "I'm happy to see you." Her hair was pale blue and she was smiling –yet Harry suspected that she probably seemed more cheerful than she really was. He noticed that she had dark, deep circles around her eyes. "How have you been?" she asked, showing some concern in her voice.

"We are fine," said Harry. Tonks shot him a dubious glance. "The last weeks at Hogwarts have been kind of difficult… but it's okay now," he said. "We are just wondering what's waiting for us here."

"You don't need to worry," answered Tonks, patting Harry's shoulder. "There is no trick. I won't hide that it's highly profitable for the Minister's image to have you here, by his side, in these difficult times. But I'm personally responsible for the organisation of this training session. The Ministry has raised all possible funds and gathered the most skilled trainers for you –coaches, instructors, lecturers, guides and professors from the whole international Wizarding community. I'm really glad that this opportunity is being offered you… especially now that Hogwarts has closed and that you are probably asking yourselves what to do."

"Sure," said Ron, looking around suspiciously. "We are really lucky to be here." Hermione gave him a poke in the ribs with her elbow, and agreed. "We are definitely very lucky and eager to start."

Smiling, Tonks stepped aside. "Please come with me now. There are a few other trainees that have been chosen to follow this session, and they are already waiting for us upstairs, in the Crimson Chamber. Gawain Robbards, the Head of Aurors and second-in-command of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, will make his welcome speech in a few moments."

They joined the throng that was starting to form in the Atrium as a clock loudly struck seven o'clock, wending their way between the Ministry workers, who were wearing glum, early-morning looks.


	19. Chapter 19 - Gawain Robbards

As Harry was trying to guess what the "Crimson Chamber" could be, Tonks guided them through a tangle of offices, rooms and stairs. Harry tried to remember, left, right, left, right, right, middle fork, left, right, but it was impossible. They finally stopped in front of what seemed to be a small, heavy wrought iron lift, and Tonks pressed the button indicating that she wanted to go upstairs.

As the doors of the lift opened abruptly with a dreadful shrieking noise, she stepped inside, followed by the others, and said loudly: "Seventh floor." The doors shut at once, and the lift immediately shot upward. When they reached their destination and the door opened again, Harry moved to the exit, but Tonks made him stop. "Wait, please," and she added: "Third floor." They stopped at the second, seventh, third and eighth floor again before Tonks explained, "It's a code. The place we have to reach is a secret room, protected by ancient, powerful magic."

When the door closed again on the eighth floor, Harry's, Ron's, and Hermione's faces were turning a pale shade of green. As they were praying for the movement to stop, the lift unexpectedly started to go sideways and then down, so quickly that Harry felt as though he had left part of his internal organs on the first floor. As the lift stopped, a new door, that Harry could have sworn had not been there before, opened with a small pop behind them.

Tonks stepped outside, Harry, Hermione and Ron behind her, still feeling dizzy. Harry realized all at once what the "Crimson Chamber" was: they were standing in the middle of a circular room, decorated with heavy red tapestries, oriental rugs piled all over the floor and cherry-coloured damask chairs aligned in rows. There was a thick incense smell in the air.

A crowd of young people were already seated on the chairs, looking around the room with curiosity. Harry spotted a blond haired girl dressed in white, a couple of tall boys seated on the front row and three other long haired girls on his left –they were seventh-years at Hogwarts, from Ravenclaw. He also recognized a few other schoolmates who had left school in the previous years, and whom he knew by sight, but none from his same grade and hardly any Gryffindors. As he moved forward three empty seats, he counted that there must have been at least forty or fifty people in the room, half boys, half girls.

As soon as they sat, sinking deeply into the soft stuffed chairs, Harry heard someone coughing. An old man was standing next to a dark-oak desk, his hands joined in front of him, the tips of his long fingers touching.

"Well, as everyone has arrived, we shall start," he said matter-of-factly.

Mr Robbards was a very, very tall man, dressed in a spotless black suit, an immaculate white shirt and a matching black silk tie. His body was slim, and his long arms and legs made him look like a spider, especially as he started to pace slowly, with long strides, his knees slightly bent.

Mr Robbards wore thick brass-rimmed glasses, and, as one of his big, round eyes seemed to be almost blind, and the opposite ear probably deaf, he appeared in the habit of speaking with his head bent to the side, like a bird, looking at the ceiling, at the walls, at anything but the person to whom he was talking.

"Another Mad Eye," whispered Ron.

Mr Robbards started his speech talking to a tea pot that was on a table. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Gawain Robbards, Head of Aurors. I heartily welcome you to the Ministry of Magic. As you already know, you have been chosen, based on your high performing magical abilities, to become Ministry employees. But not ordinary ones: you have been selected to join the Auror Advance Guard, which is the most important arm of the Ministry, a team of great elite Dark Wizard hunters." He coughed again then started to address a chair.

"It would be foolish to minimize the gravity of the hour," he said. "Our community is now facing a horrifying danger, a ferocious threat, and it needs special protection, special measures to be taken. It would be still more foolish to lose heart and courage. In this solemn hour, in these sad, doubtful and dark days, against trial and tribulation, we need to banish despair. We need co-operation, we need comradeship, we need brotherhood. In you lay our hopes, and an invincible confidence. This is why the Minister has decided to create this very special training session. It is an extremely exclusive and high level magical training, something that has never… indeed, never been undertaken before."

He coughed loudly. "We must not underrate the gravity of the task which lies before us or the temerity of the ordeal, to which we shall not be found unequal. We must expect many disappointments, and many unpleasant surprises, but we may be sure that the task, which we need to accept freely, is one not beyond the compass and the strength of the talented Wizards and Witches that you are."

He paused, appraising the effect of his speech on his audience. Harry noticed that a few mouths were gaping, including his –realizing it, he closed it promptly with a small clap. Mr Robbards unfolded a piece of paper that he started to read, pronouncing each word with precise accuracy. "During the coming times, you will be training and improving your skills in the following subjects : Concealment and Disguise, Magical Cryptography and Steganography, Intelligence Gathering, Dark Sorcerers High Level Profiling, Stealth and Tracking, Experimental Charms and Curses, Advanced Wandless 2.0 Magic, Top Grade Legilimency and Occlumency, Survival Reflexes Activation for Improved Strength & Function, Underwater Hexes and Jinxes, Improvised Explosive Spells, Counter-Dark Magic, Integrated Logistics Support in Field Missions, Tactical Techniques in Hazardous Duty Stations, Managing Entrapment and Abduction, Peacekeeping missions among Muggle Components, Magical Conflict Resolution, Restoring Order Following Hostilities, Magical Healing: Emergency course, as well as Cross Creatures Communication, Transwizarding Studies, Driving Magical Transportation Vehicles and of course an advanced level session of Mastering Your Inner Sorcerer and First Notions of Drama in Exigent Situations…"

Hermione raised her arm on the air quickly. "Sir? Please Sir?" she asked in a loud voice. Surprised, Mr Robards looked at her as if he was seeing that there was someone in the room for the first time. Blinking, he nodded.

"Sir, the subjects you presented sound really thrilling, but… how is it possible for us to learn all this in so short a time?"

Mr Robbards seemed to hesitate, then, as he opened his mouth to speak to a chair, Tonks interrupted. "It's a very smart question, Hermione. In fact, it's absolutely impossible. You cannot and will not learn all this in a short time."


	20. Chapter 20 - CAAHPDE-ATAC

"We won't?" asked everyone in an almost perfect chorus.

"Please, don't worry, I will explain everything in few moments," said Tonks. "For those who don't know me, I'm Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror myself, and I had the honour of being appointed by the Minister and Mr Robbards to head this high level training session," she said loudly.

Clearing her throat, she continued. "As you know, a regular training session for an Auror takes three years. This branch is composed today of 137 Aurors, already fulfilling their duty in protecting the Wizarding community from danger. The Aurors Advance Guard, a special squad that we usually name with the code 008, is appointed to carry out extremely sensitive field missions. These missions involve particularly dangerous types of Magic, including the use of the Unforgivable Curses. This branch is usually trained in 6 years and today comprises thirty-two individuals who are in charge of tracking the Dark Wizards."

She cleared her throat again, which was starting to become rather annoying. "In the coming six months, you will be fully trained to become Advance Guard Aurors. You will be welcomed at the St Wrottin-Powys College, a special training centre located in one of the most ancient and famous collegiate institutions in Britain, Camford."

"Camford? But it's a Muggle University?" said Hermione.

"Yes, it is," answered Tonks. "However, the current Chancellor is a Wizard, and an old friend of the late Professor Dumbledore. He is offering us his full co-operation. We believe that a Muggle University is a perfect place to undertake this training session, as it is, obviously, the last place where we should be expected to organise it."

"Good point… smart move," whispered Ron in Harry's ear.

"St Wrottin-Powys College, furthermore," continued Tonks, undisturbed, "traditionally hosts pupils studying special branches of the Department of Applied Mathematics. From now on, it will host the CAAHPDE-ATAC fellowship programme: the Centre for Asymptotic Analysis of Hyperbolic Partial Differential Equations Applied to Topiary Arts and Crafts."

"The… what?" asked Ron, stunned.

"In mathematics," clarified Hermione, "a partial differential equation is a relation involving an unknown function of several independent variables and its partial derivatives with respect to those variables. Partial differential equations are used to formulate and solve problems such as the propagation of sound or heat, electrostatics, electrodynamics, fluid flow, elasticity, or more generally any process that is distributed in space or distributed in space and time. A hyperbolic partial differential equation is just a linear, usually second-order partial differential equation."

Harry stared at her blankly. "I love maths," she confessed, blushing.

"I see that we have a very smart lady here," said Mr Robbards. "And topiary is the art of creating sculptures in the medium of clipped shrubs. Needless to say, we chose an advanced mathematics course that no Muggle would be attracted to, in order to eliminate possible applicants. If we happen to find a thoughtless volunteer, we will also set up extremely difficult admission tests, impossible for any Muggle to pass."

"I would have been interested in the course," mumbled Hermione, sounding rather displeased, yet fortunately, apart from Harry, no one heard.

"During your training," said Tonks, continuing her presentation, "you will be provided with rent-free accommodations within the St Wrottin-Powys College's grounds, in private residences, as it is suitable for Ministry employees. You will also, of course, receive more than decent wages for the job you will be doing… and for the considerable effort that will be needed to accomplish it."

Tonks cleared her throat louder than ever. "Unfortunately, as Miss Granger already spotted, it is not possible to learn all these subjects, becoming High Level Dark Wizard hunters, in a short time. This is why, due to these exceptional circumstances, we must ask you to undertake… exceptional efforts."

She paused briefly, checking that everyone was listening carefully to her words, and then went on. "The grounds of St Wrottin-Powys Castle, once you will be inside, will be enchanted in order to make… the time equation change. Plainly stated, it means that, if only six months will pass in our usual timeline, six… years will go by in St Wrottin-Powys College grounds."

"Six… years?" shouted everyone, shocked. Harry felt his head start to spin.

"Yes, six years, including weekends and releases. During your time off, you will be allowed to leave the Castle, but for security reasons we must ask you to stay in the town and University grounds."

Everyone looked astounded, a few rather heated, a thousand contradictory ideas probably crossing their minds. Harry was under the impression that the air he had been breathing had suddenly been sucked away. Yet, he rationalized, reciting his mantra again –this was his destiny. He couldn't avoid facing it now. Could he?

Mr Robbards spoke again, addressing the ceiling. "We will now give you a few moments to take your final decision, before you sign these hiring contracts, becoming in all respects Ministry employees. Not being able to see your families and friends for six years is a huge sacrifice; you must ponder your choice carefully. Of course, on their side, only six months will pass, so the endeavour will be merely on your side. On the other hand, please take into consideration the fact that choosing to become a member of the Auror Advance Guard is a one-time opportunity, and it certainly needs both commitment and special efforts, especially in these critical times. "

"I'm in," said Harry, standing up and grabbing a quill to sign the parchment.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. We particularly appreciate your dedication," said Mr Robbards, nodding.

Several mutterings were heard around the room. "Potter? The Harry Potter?" and soon, one by one, the whole room stood up in a long procession to sign the contracts –Ron and Hermione, of course, the first to go, just after Harry.

As they all returned to their places, the room was quite silent. Harry, Ron and Hermione glanced at each other with shaken looks, searching in their friends' faces the reassuring promise that everything, in the coming six months –or six years, would be all right.


	21. Chapter 21 - St Wrottin-Powys

The trip to St Wrottin-Powys had been extremely fast –but not particularly pleasant, as is frequently the case with magical means of transportation. As their luggage and personal belongings had already been dealt with, the same morning, by the Department of Magical Transport, the only thing they had to do to reach their destination was enter, two or three at a time, the Vanishing Cabinet that stood in a shadowed spot of the Crimson Chamber –disguised as an "out of order" forklift.

The Vanishing Cabinet's identical twin stood, of course, somewhere in the St Wrottin-Powys Castle grounds. Harry, Ron and Hermione had taken the lift together, their faces smashed against the walls, as the place was, sadly, also rather tight. The Cabinet had first coughed alarmingly like an asthmatic old lady; then, in what had felt less than the blink of an eye, it had started to tremble, and to finally stop quite suddenly.

As he stepped out, Harry realized they were in the middle of a dark and dusty room. It looked like an old, long-deserted attic. The ceiling was low and crooked, covered with cobwebs, which were hanging in tangled and yellowish strings. The floor was made of oak beams, with wide cracks in between, making it difficult to walk without watching carefully where to step.

Uncertain of what to do, Harry set himself on lookout mode –straining his ears and opening his eyes wide. The place seemed strangely quiet, apart from an annoying noise of water dripping unceasingly from the ceiling, and an elusive rustling sound –probably a surprised animal who was trying hastily to reach his den.

"Hem… is there any chance that we missed the right exit?" asked Ron.

"There is a door, just here," said Hermione, spotting a tiny trapdoor, which was ajar.

In silent agreement, they decided to sneak through it –finding a long narrow flight of stone steps descending in the darkness, illuminated by a few flickering torches. As he was hesitating again, Harry heard an echoing, cavernous voice coming from the dark depths. "Please, please, come over here, dears."

Apparently, Harry thought, they were in a tower, as the descent was rather difficult and long. Harry went first, followed by Hermione and Ron. The steps were so slippery that, after tripping repeatedly, they found themselves holding hands for support. When Harry reached the outside, he blinked several times in pain, hit by a strong sunlight. They stood in the middle of what appeared to be an incredible garden.

It was, no doubt, an unbelievable example of the topiary arts. As far as he could see, gigantic walls of clipped shrubs had been accurately cut and shaped into the most extraordinary forms: huge zebras, gargantuan snails, colossal rabbits, impressive oversize polecats, all of them surrounded by leafy towering ramparts forming a deep, thick, dark green labyrinth.

As he stood open-mouthed, Harry heard a feeble, rasping voice calling them from a side –it was a funny little man, with long fingers, an enormous moustache and a fleshy nose, dressed in a dark olive robe. He seemed very old –his pale, transparent skin looked like the old map of an undulating region, with valleys, hills and woods, furrowed by tortuous rivers and canyons. He had huge, kind and watery eyes showing through the bluish glare reflection of his glasses. There was a quantity of silver hair growing out of his large ears –basically, Harry observed to himself, he looked very much like a house-elf, except that an elf would have been about one or two heads shorter.

"Welcome to St Wrottin-Powys College, dears," said the little man, opening his arms wide with an affectionate look. "I'm Shaitan Enamor Sitantar, the Castle's keeper and your devoted Professor. I'm very happy to have you here," he added, addressing the three friends, who had joined the small crowd that had already gathered around him.

"This is an extraordinary place," whispered a young girl with an amply freckled nose whom Harry hadn't noticed until then.

"Indeed, indeed, dear," said Professor Shaitan. "This is a very extraordinary, much unexpected, and extremely important place. Strong, powerful magic has created all that you see, and it still lays in here, everywhere, all around you," he said, lowering his voice, raising his long fingers and huge eyes towards the sky.

Just as he pronounced these last words, three more young people came from the tower and gathered around them, followed shortly by Tonks, whom the little man greeted with a silent nod. "Now, we can proceed," he said. "Please, I must ask you to form a line, the Four Strokes Ceremony must start and we have to reach the Castle, promptly."

He raised an old, crooked walking stick towards the soaring walls of trees–the stick had a handle featuring a strange silver figure holding a briar wood ball, Harry noticed. A passage was instantly formed in the middle of the shrubs, allowing them to pass through it. "Please keep very close, don't split. We are about to enter a magical labyrinth protecting every entrance of the Castle with potent enchantments. Anyone who tried to penetrate the St Wrottin-Powys grounds without authorization would wander for weeks before being led to me," he said, in a soft voice.

Not only had the clipped shrubs been shaped into incredible forms, but, unexpectedly, they also burst into life as soon as Professor Shaitan approached them. Being watched closely by a herd of huge, leafy beasts without visible eyes is a rather disquieting experience; it fully persuaded the young crowd to advance dutifully and silently for the following minutes.

At last, they reached the Castle, which was completely hidden by the living forest. Harry thought that, more than a Castle, the construction looked like a sort of vast monastery –the atmosphere of peace and solitude was imposing. The Castle was designed in an eight-sided layout around a central courtyard, which was encircled by arcades. The yard was paved in stone and planted with grass altogether, forming intricate alleys. In its centre, stood a massive fountain. It was the most amazing, extraordinary fountain that Harry had never seen, a monumental sculpture of granite, marble and bronze.

"Dear, this is the Fountain of Impossible Things," explained Professor Shaitan. "It's the heart of St Wrottin-Powys. Without it, nothing would be possible... or impossible, it depends on how you see it," he said.

Raising his eyes respectfully towards the out-of-scale form, Professor Shaitan continued in a small voice. "Wizard, Witch or Muggle, every human in this world knows that a regular fountain, when offered a coin, is supposed to grant your wishes. However, this Fountain is much more special: it only grants your wishes for impossible things. Dears, it's not something that can be dealt with easily, though. Because if you wish something that's not truly impossible –that, for instance, you could have reached with a little more effort, a little more thought, or a little more time… if you ask it of this Fountain, you can be sure that it never, absolutely never will come true. In short, this extraordinary Magical Fountain has been built to make possible impossible things, and to make impossible possible ones."

Harry stared at it, with mixed feelings, not daring to let his brain entirely measure the prospects offered by the enchanted stony sculpture. The Fountain formed a circular form of huge proportions, richly sculpted. It featured several round platforms, the lowest one standing at least seven feet from the ground, and the highest around fifty. On every platform stood several statues: babies and children on the lower levels, and young adults, women and men, in the central ones. At the top, an old man stood proudly, holding a sort of iron sceptre, a piece of fabric wrapped around his brawny, powerful body. He was seated next to a strange clock-like mechanism, with several rings built around a central highly-polished metallic sphere.

Exposure to the outdoor environment had severely deteriorated the impressive monument: it was cracked in many locations and several details were missing. Long, dark green streaks were eroding its surface –making the statues look like crippled humans who were crying bilious green tears. A sense of mysterious fear, of deep sadness, as of something uncanny, was almost palpable around the figure.

The Fountain stood dead-still, no water coming from its depths. After silently appraising it for a few moments, Professor Shaitan spoke, this time with a surprisingly loud voice for so small a man. "Dear, there are fifty ten-pointed stars drawn on the floor around the Fountain. Can each of you please go and stand on one of them?"

The young people immediately executed the demand, led by Tonks. Once Harry was close to the Fountain, in the requested position, he thought quite apprehensively that its huge, impressive form seemed even bigger than before. Professor Shaitan stood on one of the ten-pointed stars, which was placed closer to the Fountain.

"I will now open the gates," he said, at the top of his voice. "This means that the time equation around the Castle grounds will change. Dears, I must also mention that the original enchantment has been slightly improved, in order to modify the gravitational field imperceptibly. This has no other effect than to keep you in good shape, making your muscles work permanently, but gently, without needing any sports. No sports, this is the answer for a long life," he said, matter-of-factly.

He bent towards the stone form to pull an iron-wrought lever –once to the front, twice to the sides, and a last time to the back, producing four loud, echoing strokes. Immediately, the Fountain was set into motion. In one single movement, full onrushes of water started to shoot out from everywhere in huge cascades, rushing, bounding, leaping, looping in the air and splashing the whole garden. The noise was deafening, not only due to the pouring water, but also because every single, crippled statue of the Fountain had burst into life, starting to move, walk, stretch out and chat with its stony neighbours at the same time.

At the top of the Fountain, the central sphere had started to rotate very quickly, the rings turning and spinning around it in every direction. The old man was still peacefully seated, looking plunged in meditation, as if the agitation hadn't the slightest influence upon him.

"Done," said Professor Shaitan, looking satisfied. "This Fountain will remain in operation for the next six years, simulating normal days and nights above our heads, as if two thousand one hundred and ninety three days will really pass, instead of one hundred and eighty two. Dears, don't be afraid of the noise: the classrooms and your personal accommodations are far from here, the sound will not perturb you on a daily basis."

"Good," thought Harry, relieved, his hands on his ears. He was feeling a little dizzy, surely influenced by the noise and the change in gravitation, but also entranced by the stony Fountain, unable to take his eyes from it, as if hypnotized.

"Speaking of this subject, please, would you mind gathering around me again?" said Professor Shaitan, waving gently to encourage them to join him. "Thank you. As you already know, as Ministry employees, you will be provided with rent-free accommodations within the College grounds as a fringe benefit."

"They consist primarily of private housing options in small cottages," he said, and then, raising a crooked finger, he continued. "Living alone can be an important step to responsibility, independence and autonomy. But don't fear: life in St Wrottin-Powys is packed with things to do, supervisions, researches, enquiries and surveys, experimental potions and spells, field missions –to name but a few. With so much going on it's easy to get overwhelmed; it would be most unusual if any of you got lost or lonely at some point."

"Seems great," exclaimed Hermione, making Harry and Ron break into a small smile.

"I will now give each of you an individual key, which is an extremely important item for you, more important than your wand –I have never been particularly fond of wands anyway." He kept talking while he rummaged in an old-looking cloth sack around his neck.

"This key not only opens your private apartments, as well as every room in which you are allowed to enter," he said. "But it is also a sort of magnetic compass that will direct you in the Castle grounds. Upon request, it can also tell you the day and hour, inside and outside St Wrottin-Powys."

Shaking his head and looking directly at the people around him to make his point clear, he continued. "It is vital to keep track of the time, constantly. If you intend to leave the Castle on weekends and days off, you must remember that, when a full day goes by here, only two hours will pass outside. The Main Gate will remain open until the last minute of the authorized time but, if you are late… you will find it closed and will have to wait outside – ten hours, missing five working days here– to enter again. It is needless to say that, due to the important task we need to accomplish, this kind of behaviour cannot be tolerated twice. In short, understand: you must never, ever be without this key, or you will find yourself in trouble immediately."

Softening his face into a bright, reassuring smile, he finished his speech. "Last but not least, this time functionality is also extremely useful if you go in for boiled eggs, as I do. Dear, please, can you form a line to take your key? By the way, it's not the holder who chooses the key… it's the key who chooses its holder. It will immediately take the needed form to open the door of the housing option which suits you best. It detects quite perfectly your personality and tastes…"

After a few moments, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves holding three crooked, glittering golden keys, attached with small chains around their necks. "A gilded leading-string," thought Harry.

"What about visiting our cottages together?" asked Ron.

"Yes, I'm curious to see them. Let's start with mine!" replied Hermione, excited. "Key: would you mind leading us to my cottage, please?" she asked, holding her key at eye level. She felt a small, funny vibration coming from it, and the key magically shaped itself in the form of the path to be followed, irresistibly attracting her hand towards a specific direction.

"Wow, this is cool," exclaimed Ron, following both his friends towards the dark green labyrinth, which was enticing them to enter its mysterious depths.


	22. Chapter 22 - The cottages

The next ten minutes were probably some of the longest that Harry had ever experienced. No sound at all, apart from occasional bird chirps, could be heard in the middle of the thick, leafy labyrinth. Even if he tried to assume a perfectly unfazed expression, Harry was feeling quite anxious to get out.

Just as a colossal green giraffe was bending her neck to sniffle him silently, making Harry feel the temperature rise at once, a hole was formed in the shrub wall in front of them. Passing through it they emerged in a sunny clearing, in which stood a single-storey, slate-roofed little house.

The key stopped the odd vibration it had been making and changed shape again. "I think it's here," said Hermione. In front of them began a meandering path of round smooth pebbles, bordered with all sorts of blossoming plants and colourful flowers, leading to the old house's ivy-covered porch.

The porch and front door were painted in a bright shade of cherry, matching the brick-red walls and the paving, and contrasting with the natural green surroundings. The windows had small diamond-shaped, stained glass panes, wrinkled by the years and framed in black wood. Strangely, Harry realized that he felt immediately comfortable in this unknown place, as though he had dwelled there for years. Puzzled, he shook his head.

As they reached the front door, he spotted a small brass tablet pinned on it, "Welcome to Mugdrum Gard, Home of Miss Hermione Granger."

They exchanged surprised looks. "Well, no doubt it's here then," said Ron. As Hermione carefully inserted the key in the lock and opened the door, they saw a red striped animal come out hastily. "Crookshanks!" said Hermione, delighted, taking her cat, who was purring loudly, in her arms.

"Welcome home! Bienvenus! Benvenuti! Benvindos!" said a loud, shrieking voice, coming from inside and startling the three of them. As Hermione pushed the door fully open to see who was talking, Harry spotted a stuffed stag head, which was smiling broadly. "My name is Bimbo, and I'm very, very pleased to meet you," he said with a joyful tone. He had positively huge antlers, and a dozen hats, of all colours and sizes, hanging on them.

"Hello… Mr Bimbo. I'm Hermione Granger," said Hermione. "I think I will be living here."  
"Of course, my dear!" replied Bimbo, "I have been waiting for you eagerly. It has been ages since this house was inhabited! Oh, I see you don't wear a hat, it's a pity… I'm very fond of hats and would have been glad to have a new one. I have a head for hats, you know," he said proudly, shaking his antlers and making the hats spin around them.

"Yes, we can see," said Harry, grinning.

"Were you… were you shot by the house's previous owner?" asked Ron. Hermione looked at him swiftly, with big round eyes.

"Shot? Shot? Are you joking? Do you think I look like a murdered trophy? No, I used to live here myself, in the woods just around the house. In my will, I personally asked to be stuffed. It's so much warmer and cosier in here… and furthermore, I discovered hats!"

Feeling that the conversation was going nowhere, Harry changed the subject. "Can we have a look around?" The stag smiled broadly, showing a full range of huge white teeth. "Feel free!" exclaimed Bimbo. "My home is your home! Mi casa es su casa! Ma maison est…"

As they entered the living room, Harry discovered that the cottage was, indeed, a very warm, muffled and cosy place. The floor was in old, dark oak, which cracked under their feet as they walked, and there was a giant velvet couch, deep red, covered with shimmering twilled cloths and patterned cushions. There were also two old-looking leather armchairs, facing a huge, sculpted stone fireplace, in which the fire was bursting joyfully. All around the room (or rather all around the house), in the most unexpected places, covering every wall from ground to ceiling, stood impressive shelves, overflowing with books –old, new, in every size, covered in leather or paper, gold-leafed and silken-bound, bearing the most amazing titles engraved on their colourful edges.

"Wooow," said Ron. "I bet there are more books here that in the whole Hogwarts library."

And it was probably true, Harry thought. Hermione looked ecstatic. "I think I'm going to faint! Look here! The whole collection of Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks, first edition! And here Gone with the Witch, a classic!"

Harry exchanged an amused look with Ron, who rolled his eyes and motioned him to join him. They continued to explore the house, leaving Hermione alone to discover all the readable treasures that stood in her new home.

The living room led, in sequence, to a small dining room and an old-style kitchen, with all sorts of shining copper pans hanging on the ceiling. There were many shelves full of home-made looking marmalades and sauces. The rear of the house looked out onto a small orchard, overflowing with all sorts of fruit and vegetables.

There were a few words written in chalk on a small board, pinned next to the old-looking fridge. Harry read them aloud, as Ron approached. "The St Wrottin-Powys' kitchens are auto-refilling: no need to buy food supplies. The recipes can also be prepared upon request –just write the name of the dish you desire hereunder, please."

Harry seized the chalk and wrote "Bitter chocolate fondant with whipped cream topping," his mouth still savouring it, in a delicious recollection, from Bill and Fleur's wedding. Instantly, a pan freed itself from the hook it was hanging on, flew at full speed above Harry's bewildered head and reached the stove, which ignited promptly. Several blocks of chocolate came out from a board and shattered into pieces into the pan. A few eggs broke themselves into two bowls –yolks and whites apart- and a large wooden spoon started to whip them. The whole process only took a few seconds.

As Ron and Harry were staring at the operation, both curious and delighted, they heard Hermione from the dining room, apparently speaking to someone.

"Another talking beast?" asked Ron.

As they came back to join her, Harry saw Hermione engaged in conversation with a bronze bust. Its dark profile was shining brightly, as if it had just been warily polished. "Oh, here are those discourteous individuals who forgot to greet me a few moments ago," said the bust, with a contemptuous look –which Harry immediately disliked, as it reminded him of Aunt Petunia.

"Harry, Ron, may I introduce you to Lady Susan B.?" said Hermione, an amused and lightly mocking tone in her voice. "Dear Lady Susan, please meet my friends, Mr Harry Potter and Mr Ron Weasley."

Harry bowed respectfully, which made Lady Susan soften her gaze a little. "How do you do?" she said, still a bit coldly.

"What does the B. stand for, Lady Susan?" asked Ron politely.

"Black, of course, my poor child," she answered. "The Blacks are the only truly aristocratic family who lived in this house. Even if, you will find soon enough, sadly, there is a very iniquitous being here who uses my title. It is a shameful usurpation, and I would advise you strongly to avoid her completely."

Indeed, a few moments later, as they entered the bedroom –which was also a very pleasant place, with a four-poster bed fitted in an alcove, surrounded by heavy curtains and covered with kilted wool cushions– they met a second bust. It was of the purest, finest white marble, and the features were an exact replica of the first –or, much more probably, it was the mould that had been used to craft the first, even if Lady Susan B. would surely have denied the fact.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Lady Susan W." said the bust, bowing its head lightly. Its voice was kind and warm, and its countenance very sweet. "Don't tell me," said Ron. "The W. stands for the House of White."

"Indeed, how did you guess?" asked Lady Susan W., widening her soft eyes.

"I'm a powerful Wizard," said Ron importantly, making Harry burst into a hearty laugh –especially as Ron still had some chocolate on his nose from the fondant he had grabbed from the kitchen a few moments before. "Speaking of me, what about visiting my cottage now? I'm curious to see what is planned for me," said Ron.

Surprisingly (or rather not, thought Harry to himself), Ron's cottage was completely different from Hermione's. After a few more moments wandering in the shrub labyrinth, they discovered a strange looking little house –a perfect cube, metal-roofed, its walls made of stone, glass and wood– perched on a small wooded hill. The tablet on the front door said "Welcome to Rottenrow Frogmore, Home of Mr Ronald Weasley."

As Hermione's cottage had seemed old, this one looked brand new –just like the car parked on the doorway, a shining Ford Anglia that Harry recognized at first sight. Inside the house, they discovered a single room, immeasurable in width and height. It was covered in clear wood from floor to ceiling, the sunlight flowing free from huge glass panels cut into the roof. On one side of the room stood an open, modern kitchen with a long glass dining table; on the opposite, set on a balcony, stood a cubical bed; in between, there were many coloured mattresses and cushions all over the floor. In short, a real estate agent would surely have described the place as a "refined, industrial-chic loft with all the modern conveniences of the trend-setting urban lifestyle, attuned to the needs of the creative spirit."

"This is amazing," said Ron. "I didn't even know there were places like this in the whole world! And blissfully not a single beast or object talking." He was even happier in discovering that, in the rear, there wasn't an orchard to be taken care of but a huge field, planted with grass, which was perfect for Quidditch practice.

Harry's cottage –"Baldraygon Hall, Home of Mr Harry Potter"–as he already expected, was also slightly different from his friends'. After a long, tree-shaded path, he saw a little slate-roofed house, nestled near a tiny, peaceful lake. Its walls were white, and covered in honeysuckle. There were large windows letting in the sun, and curls of smoke drifting out of the chimney. The whole scenario would have seemed perfectly untroubled, strikingly reminiscent of Harry's parents' house, but for a strange-looking dead tree planted on the bank of the lake. Harry couldn't avoid thinking that there was something intriguing about it: when looked at very closely (no need to narrow the eyes or bend the head to one side), it resembled a huge crooked hand emerging from the earth.

Once he noticed it, Harry felt a strange, oppressive sensation in his throat. Swallowing, he lowered his gaze and pushed the impression from his mind, heading to the door instead. As soon as he entered the house, Hedwig, who was perched on a roost, greeted him with a joyful noise, ruffling her feathers cheerily.

Inside, happily, his impression was much friendlier. The fire was blazing under the stone mantelpiece, and everything was warm and bright. The walls were painted in striking, shimmering colours –the living room was light green, the kitchen lemon yellow, the bedroom cobalt blue and the corridors dark red. In every room, the richness of colourful patterned cloths, patchwork quilts and cushioned seats created a joyful, casual jumble.

The furniture was in dark oak, and there were a few old-looking paintings all around the house. "It seems you have talking company too," said Ron with a grin. A huge portrait was hanging on the living room, just over the fireplace, representing an old-looking man. He nodded at Harry importantly when they entered the room, not bothering to say a word. "Well, maybe not so talkative after all," said Ron in a whisper.

A seascape, with a beautiful wooden ship cradled by foamy waves, was hanging in the kitchen. "Wow, you can even hear the sea swooshing," noticed Hermione. Another portrait hung in the bedroom, apparently of the same man represented in the living room, but several years younger –this one looked cheerful and companionable, and greeted Harry joyfully.

"Welcome, Potter! Glad to have you here at last!" he said. "I've heard a lot about you, mate. My name is Gilded Gray, but just call me Gray. We will have some fun together! Just one rule, pal: I like to hang out frequently at night, visiting a few friends in their portraits, at the Castle. A healthy social life is the first moral obligation for a young man! Nevertheless, this tends to make me rather sleepy during the day. It would be nice if you managed to respect my sleep while doing your business around the house! Anyway, welcome again!"

"Well… that's it then…" said Harry, as they went back to the living room. "This is where we will be living a few years…" He was still wearing his now usual unfazed expression, but his friends felt his unspoken nervousness.

"Darkness is starting to fall," said Hermione, looking out of the window. "Ron and I should probably go, if we want to avoid wandering in this shrub maze at night."

"Yes, good night everyone," said Ron, who certainly sounded the most cheerful of the trio, pleased as he was with his new home. Harry, for his part, was still feeling a stubborn uneasiness in the back of his mind, wondering how their new… secluded life would be.


	23. Chapter 23 - Speranza

The following day, Harry met his friends in front of the Castle, before their first lesson together, "Master your Inner Sorcerer", started. The trainees had been split into four teams of twelve –half boys, half girls– but happily the three of them had been assigned to the same team.

"How did you sleep, mate?" asked Ron, a bright smile on his face, giving Harry his customary open-handed clout of greeting in the middle of the back. Harry took the salutation without flinching. "Me, I slept like a baby. It's great to have a whole new home just for myself. Back at my parents' house, there was always someone there: human, gnome or ghoul. There was always some noise, some clinking or some shouting. I never had this great… restful kind of feeling before. If this is what we call liberty, then I want two or three more doses of it per day!"

Harry and Hermione, who were probably less keen on solitude, smiled and nodded silently. Harry had gone through an almost sleepless night. The unknown environment had made him face old personal apprehensions again, linked to the fact that they had grown up alone, without many friends.

He hadn't much time to dwell on sad feelings though. As soon as they entered the castle's hall, they were greeted by a loud, shrieking sputter. Harry saw that there was a ghost standing at the entrance, shouting out at the top of his voice. He was floating in the air, near the ceiling, his legs crossed and his position stiff as if he were seated on an imaginary throne. The passers-by stared at him, startled.

"Welcome, welcome, my sweet friends. I'm Sir Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde, at your service. But please, call me Speranza. This charming nom de scène I borrowed from my late mother suits me perfectly, now that I'm dead!" he cried, winking at the three friends.

His ethereal form was dressed in what seemed to have been, in olden times, a velvet coat edged with braid. Harry saw that he also wore knee breeches, silk stockings, a soft loose shirt with a wide low turned-down collar and a large flowing tie. An outrageous sunflower, adorned with peacock feathers and dainty lilies, was tucked in his buttonhole.

"Nice to meet you, Speranza," said Ron loudly, as they approached the vaporous figure.

"Wilde?" exclaimed Hermione. "_The_ Oscar Wilde?"

"Oh, I see that my extraordinary genius has already reached Wizarding ears!" Speranza squealed, in great satisfaction, jumping so high that his head passed through the ceiling and disappeared for a fraction of second.

"You know him?" asked Ron, surprised.

"He is a kind of Muggle writer, I mean, he was a writer," explained Harry, in a whisper.

"A kind of Muggle writer?" shouted Speranza louder than ever, raising both his arms and gesturing lavishly. "An _extraordinary talented playwright_, you probably mean. Not only I have been a celebrity in my own time, but, more than a hundred years after my death, I continue to inspire millions around the world!" he said.

"Sure! I'm sorry, I didn't…" said Harry, feeling his ears grow a little hot. It was true that he tended, now, to be a little more partial to ghosts.

"Nowadays my plays are still immensely successful, possessing the ability to dazzle audiences with roaring laughter, riveting suspense and thunderous applause," continued Speranza, staring dreamily straight past them. Harry ventured to turn slightly, wondering if there was something to look at, yet he saw nothing but a bare, stony wall. "My indelible influence is as strong as ever and will keep humankind captivated, and brilliantly entertained, in perpetuity. Worldwide, I will remain the emblem of the Englishman, a species who have been created to drink sugary tea and popularize sarcasm as a higher form of wit."

"But how is it possible that you are here?" asked Hermione, hoping to bring the self-congratulatory speech to an end. "You didn't die here, you died in France. Ghosts usually stay where they have met their death, don't they?"

Speranza stared down at her condescendingly. "I see that consistency is still the last refuge of the unimaginative… Well, my fair lady, you should have much more knowledge on this topic than I, I dare say," he said, making Hermione blush. "Here is my explanation, which, sadly, is by no means improbable. It is, in fact, even perfectly ordinary." Speranza uncrossed his legs and started to float around, in semi-circles, his hands tucked behind his back. Harry felt his neck crack oddly as his eyes followed the ghost's movements.

"I used to haunt a very old, very typical and very pleasant hotel in Saint Germain des Prés –though it was adorned with the most dreadful wallpaper I have ever seen in life or death," said Speranza. "As my demise couldn't be the end of the duel we were fighting, one or other of us had to go. Nonetheless, before I could take any retaliatory measure against it, the place has been scandalously destroyed to build an inconceivable supermarket. Just as I was facing the most outrageous prospects for my future, my mater patria, this sceptred isle, earth of majesty, divine Albion, came to me in the form of the Ghostbusters' team of the Ministry of Magic, rescuing me from my squalor."

"Okay… but… why are you here now?" asked Ron, massaging his neck.

"I chose this place, my dear fellow, because it was, in days of yore, my Alma Mater. The finest, unsurpassed four years of my entire life! To get back one's youth, one has merely to repeat one's follies. And when I heard Wizards and Witches were coming, I found the prospect absolutely delightful! What an occasion to share some ideas, to impart a few thoughts! Since my death, I must admit I have acquired a much more mature background in philosophy and an added weight of experienced theatrical craftsmanship. Sadly, I cannot hold a pen to write anything down, so I have to improvise for my daily audiences. And Muggles, as you call them, are a race that is far too impressionable when it comes to chatting with astral bodies. On this matter, I wrote a very interesting essay –I will allow myself to call it even premonitory, on the topic of problematic phantasmal apparitions and the subsequent psychological impoverishment of the ghostly fellows. I strongly recommend that you read it immediately. Well, it has been a nice little chat, but I have important matters to attend to, au revoir!" he finished, disappearing with a loud pop –like that of a cork coming out of a bottle.

"He wants to exchange ideas or give his?" asked Ron, making his friends laugh.


	24. Chapter 24 - The first lesson

As the three friends followed the open galleries encircling the courtyard, leading to their class, Harry discovered that, as he had foreseen, the place seemed more a monastery than a castle. Their steps, hitting the carved limestone ground, produced a loud drumming noise, echoing for yards around. The only other sounds that could be overheard were the occasional chirping of birds and the remote murmur of water. The atmosphere of quiet reflection and work was almost palpable everywhere –except, of course, in the places that were frequented by Speranza.

The arcades and galleries encircling the courtyard featured traces of rich, ancient mouldings and sculpted parapets. Yet the fine vaulting was the only adornment still perfectly preserved. Harry noted that several rather ugly gargoyles hung from it, but he avoided inspecting them closely –not even remotely in the mood to find out if, as he feared, they might be alive.

There was a wealth of long, dark stone staircases everywhere, and every one of them seemed to have been built for a single, specific purpose: some led straight to crypt-like, ill-lit rooms in the dungeons or the roof, the others to vaulted chambers in the first, second or third floors.

"I'm very glad to have this key around my neck," said Ron, looking all around him, as he was following a match of Quidditch. "Without it I would be completely lost already."

Harry smiled at him politely –even if, in fact, he hadn't been listening quite carefully to his friend's words. He had been hypnotized by a group of older people who had just passed them. They were apparently tutors. One of them was very tall, with a flaming-red mane and a matching moustache; another one had surprisingly yellow skin, especially around his neck, making him look decidedly unwell –like a half-cooked dough. The last one they ran into, who nodded in Harry's direction with a piercing gaze, was a little man whose back was so crooked, and his face so contorted, that even the gargoyles seemed fair in comparison.

When they reached their classroom, Harry noticed that it was almost bare from furniture, as was the rest of the building. Shooting a quick glance all around him, he observed that the floor and the walls were also made of carved stone, and there were a few tables in plain, dark wood. The only compromises with comfort seemed to be the chairs, cushioned in a sort of velvety orange.

There were already nine other people in the class –four young men and five women. One of the men addressed them as soon as they entered the room.

"Hello, Hermione! Oh, and hi, Harry and Ron, how is it going?" he asked joyfully.

As Harry exchanged a questioning look with Ron, Hermione, feeling a little embarrassed, stared blankly at the young man. He was blue-eyed, dark blond and certainly not ugly –he had just this bespectacled, quite ordinary face that you meet at least twice a day in a crowd.

"I see, you don't recognize me… well, that's the story of my life," he said, smiling and seeming not the least bothered. Stretching out his hand, he added "Okay, then, let's meet properly. I'm Merlin Frohike. I left Hogwarts a couple of years ago. And these are my friends J.B. and Ritchie Langly, but you probably don't remember them either, do you?" he said, winking mischievously at Hermione.

In fact, Harry was surprised to see how much the three of them looked alike. Indeed, it seemed likely that people confused the one with the other, on a daily basis. Nevertheless, they seemed cheerful and friendly; Harry liked them immediately.

The other two young men also stretched out their hands. "If you don't remember our faces, maybe you remember our little club… the Lone WandWizards?"

"Err… that seems to ring a bell…" said Ron.

"The misguided trio of unsubdued, unruly, free-thinking geeks whose achievements highlight both their genius and ineptitude, not to mention their stagnant social skills?" said J.B., winking, as if he were reading it from a newspaper.

"Oh yes, I remember you now!" exclaimed Ron, lying shamefully again, making Hermione roll her eyes desperately. "Cool. What have you been doing since graduation?"

"Well, basically what we already did when we were at Hogwarts: investigate about intrigues and shadowy conspiracies that involve the government," said Ritchie. "And we thought this was a great opportunity to do it from the inside," he added in a whisper.

"Furthermore we were short of funds to publish The Lone WandWizards Monthly, our secret newspaper, so this offer came quite as a lifesaver," said J.B.

"Well, we are very happy to be on your team anyway," added Merlin, staring for a few seconds at Hermione, which went unnoticed to the others but made her blush slightly.

"Do you know them already?" asked Harry, glancing curiously at the young man who was sitting alone, in a corner of the room, a few paces away from another solitary girl. On the other side, the four remaining young women were chatting loudly, oblivious to anything else around them.

"Yes, we met a few moments ago" said Ritchie. "The boy in the back is a strange fellow, Hector Scaggs. He never went to Hogwarts. He spoke about having lived with his mother until now; I think his father died when he was a baby. He had private teachers at home or something."

Harry appraised him with a sideways glance. What couldn't be denied was that the young man seemed extremely handsome –his black eyes, dark hair and tanned skin probably was very attractive to girls. Yet the young man also seemed awfully stern and no-nonsense. Harry couldn't immediately pinpoint how he felt about him, what made him feel quite uneasy again.

"The girl over there is Fan Fan Wang," added J.B. "She graduated from Hogwarts in our same year. She is cool but way too shy, in my humble opinion."

The young girl looked a little diffident indeed, but smiled gently at them as they looked at her. She had short hair and a petite, yet very athletic physique. She seemed frank and open, Harry decided.

"And who are the others over there?" asked Ron, visibly trying to sound uninterested, even if he had been unable to take his eyes from the group of girls since he had first spotted them.

"Hot, aren't they?" said Ritchie, winking to Ron, who seemed definitely to agree. "The tallest one is Candace Pantefreece, she is their 'leader' or something. The shortest is Dilys Rhys Plots. The brunette is Zuleikha Robinson and the red-head, Philippa Pride."

"They were our sex idols at Hogwarts," said J.B., raising his eyes in an ecstasy of recollection. "Not only because they were hot, but because they were one year ahead us. The kind of unattainable goddesses you dream of all your teenage years," he whispered. "They must be around 20 years old now."

The four girls, who indeed seemed a couple of years older than the average for the team, were rather physically appealing –both good-looking and stylish, and seemed to be perfectly aware of it. They wore businesslike, knee-length skirts with silk stockings; tight, spotless shirts; and high-heeled shoes. Candeece also wore square, brass-rimmed, very fashionable glasses –Harry could swear that he had noticed the same ones somewhere recently, probably on a random cover of Witch Weekly.

"Well," said Hermione somewhat stiffly. "I don't believe they could look that good without a little magical help."

"I never liked magic more, then," said Ron, entranced, as Harry broke into a grin.

At this moment, Harry saw Professor Shaitan enter the room, and the young people headed for their seats. Hermione went straight to the back rows, for once, sitting near Fang Fang, who welcomed her with a bright smile. Ron sprinted to a seat next to Candeece, who rewarded him with a stern look. "See, she likes me already," he whispered excitedly to Harry, who found himself near Philippa, the red-head. He suddenly felt somewhat uncomfortable again without understanding exactly why, and started to fiddle with his father's wristwatch.

Professor Shaitan stood before his class, saying nothing, with an affectionate look in his face. The young people exchanged glances, yet no one dared to interrupt his thoughts. After a few moments, he finally spoke –startling everyone, as, in spite of his kind and warm voice, everybody had already been accustomed to the silence.

"What is the most important weapon you have to fight the Dark Arts?" he asked simply.

The young people exchanged looks again. "My wand?" answered J.B., who reacted first. Professor Shaitan nodded, encouraging them to continue.

"Spells?" said Hermione, raising her arm quickly, not accustomed to be the second to speak. "Hexes? Jinxes?" said the group of young women, almost in unison.

"The Patronus Charm?" said Harry. Philippa looked at him with an appraising look and, seeing this, Harry felt a strange warmth in his chest. Unconsciously, he leaned back on his chair and started to rock on its back legs. Professor Shaitan kept nodding.

"Occlumency and Legilimency?" said Hermione, quite shouting to be heard, and abandoning her "arm-raising" strategy, noticing that nobody seemed to be doing it anymore.

"The Forbidden Spells," said a manly voice from a corner of the room, making everyone turn towards it. It was Hector Scaggs who had spoken.

Before Professor Shaitan had the time to answer, they heard a loud boom from a class nearby, making the ground tremble. Harry jumped and almost fell from his unbalanced chair.

"The Explosive Spells," said Merlin, grinning.

"Dear, dear, very good!" answered Professor Shaitan. "All these things you pointed out would indeed prove extremely useful against Dark Wizards." He paused, clasping his hands over his belly.

"But your greatest weapon is none of those," he said.

Again, the team exchanged perplexed looks. Professor Shaitan continued: "The most important thing… it's your mind. Your mind, your brain, your soul, your spirit, or any other name you may choose to give it. This is your main force, greater than anything. Greater than recipes for wicked spells. Greater than being the quickest to unsheathe your wand."

Pausing a minute, he continued. "Nothing that you will learn here, in the coming six years, can be found in a book or learnt by heart." He looked gently at Hermione, who let her shoulders fall. "Real-life experience is often far more important than book learning. What you will learn, both from me and from the other instructors, is the result of our personal experiences; of what we have learnt ourselves, year after year, during our lives." He paused again.

"If we have managed to accumulate this knowledge, which seemed valuable enough for the Ministry to ask us to stand up in front of you today, it's just because of this, again," he said, pointing a long, crooked finder towards his forehead.

"I'm not speaking of exceptional brightness, striking cleverness or even simple intelligence, even if I know that you have all been chosen for your skills in this area too," he said, smiling. "I'm speaking of curiosity, questioning, critical spirit. This is the key to permanent learning and improvement, the path towards judgement, knowledge and, maybe years down the road, what you may call wisdom."

"And there is something even more important than all this," he said, raising his crooked finger again. "My purpose here is to help you in understanding one, just one single thing. Your brain and your spirit have strengths, powers that you cannot even imagine." He paused. "Have you ever done something that you thought impossible… yet you just believed, one single second, that you could do it… and simply did?"

"My first Patronus Charm," thought Harry.

"The Quidditch match I won without the Felix Felicis" remembered Ron.

"Almost every test or examination I passed," mumbled Hermione.

"See? Mind is the key" replied Professor Shaitan, as if he was able to read theirs. "You don't need to go and wander all around the world, learning elaborate magical tricks to realize this –even if, as you will discover in Transwizarding studies, meeting different people helps a lot. I will teach you how to discover this, as far as I can. And all you have to do for me, during the next six years and afterwards, is never forget to think. Think, reflect, analyse, bring into question, with your own head, even the most sacred truths, and never, ever be fooled by how other people see things or how they appear to be."

Harry felt fascinated by the old man's words. Reflexively, he had stopped rocking on his chair or fiddling with his watch. He realized that it was unusual for him to feel completely in agreement with something a teacher said –except, of course, for his former Headmaster. Yet, even Dumbledore had kept a few secrets from Harry; he knew it perfectly well now, even if he still ignored the reason.

Professor Shaitan continued. "At the end of these six years, if I have taught you well, you will be powerful Wizards and Witches, controlling your bodies and minds perfectly, using your emotions as a force. You will be able to communicate without words, to make real wandless magic, using all your fifteen senses. You will have a clear vision of your past, your present and your future. A few of you may even be able to fly without broomsticks –why, even some Muggles can do that, so why don't you?" he said with a wink.

"But first things first. Let's play a little game now" he said.

Wordlessly, Professor Shaitan picked up a large empty jar and proceeded to fill it with big, round rocks, right to the top. Pausing, he looked at the young people and asked "Is this jar full?" A few nodding heads, including Harry's, agreed it was.

The Professor reached behind his desk and picked up a box of small, round smooth pebbles and poured them in to the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the rocks. He asked the young people again, "Is the jar full?" They laughed, then agreed that yes, now it was. Harry kept silent.

The Professor then picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. The sand filled up everything else. Of course, he then asked the young people if the jar was full again. Starting to feel unsure of the answer, a few of them agreed that, now, it probably was. Professor Shaitan then proceeded to pour a glass of pumpkin juice into the jar and shake it, and the juice slipped between all the sand.

"First lesson, and the most important one I should say: every simple, plain truth can be questioned, and things almost never seem what they truly are. Dears, and what is this?" he asked, waving to the jar, a kind smile on his lips.

"Something close to my mother's Christmas cake," said Ron, grinning, making everyone laugh, including Professor Shaitan, who shook his head.

"This is your life," said the Professor. "Yes, believe me, it is. See, the rocks are the important things –your loved ones, your family, your friends, but also your dreams, your projects, your ambitions. Everything that is so important to you that if it were lost, you could be nearly destroyed." He paused, looking intently at the jar, as did everyone else in the room, especially Harry.

"The pebbles are the other things in life that matter, but on a smaller scale. Things like your job, your house… The sand is everything else, the small stuff: your wand, your brand new Firebolt," he added with a bright smile that Harry could have sworn was directed at him.

"If you put the sand or the pebbles into the jar first, there is no room for the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your energy and time on the small things, you will never have room for the things that are truly most important. So dears, you must, of course, pay attention to the things that are critical in your life," he said, opening his arms wide.

"But…" he added, with his now-habitual crooked finger raised. "Life cannot be made of great projects only. It needs amusement, small pleasures, jokes and laughs, and much, much love and heartbeats. Your life cannot be full without it." He paused, looking for a very brief moment at Harry. "Do take care of the rocks first –the things that really matter. Set your priorities. But don't forget pebbles and sand. And remember, there is always room for a good glass of pumpkin juice," he added with a playful wink.

"Think of all this, please. This will be your first mission. Thank you for your attention, and see you in a few days." As soon as he pronounced these words, Professor Shaitan rushed out of the room, before anyone could speak.

"That was it?" said Ron, still unbelieving at the strange turn the class had taken.

As Harry picked up his things to reach to their next class –avoiding meeting Philippa's probing eyes, he already strongly suspected that the other instructors surely would hold for them a few other unforeseen surprises.


End file.
